A Marriage Bargain
by Kore-Proserpina
Summary: If one were to ask Lucius Malfoy, he would be the first to state that that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. Severus Snape most certainly does not agree. In fact, he most vehemently, completely, and unquestionably disagrees. Little does he know, the matter has been decided for him. SS/OFC, year 5, rated M for later chapters. Romance/Angst
1. Prologue

Prologue

Severus Snape sat at a fine mahogany table surrounded by stacks of rare and forbidden texts. His chair cushion was covered in a luminous blue silk, completely hidden by the folds of his black robes. The walls were studded in bookshelves that boasted ancient knowledge, and a marble fireplace glimmered with flames. A grandfather clocked chimed in the far corner, playing an excerpt of Johann Sebastian Bach's Goldberg Variations.

Where was this quaint and ostentatiously ornate setting? It was the private study of one Lucius Malfoy, and he and Severus Snape were engaging in another weekly session of Slytherin Charades: Malfoy pretending to read and Snape pretending to listen.

It was an old habit of theirs during the summer; both Slytherins knew the game and played their parts well. It was a profitable arrangement – Severus was free to browse his bitter heart's content, and Lucius had a captive audience. With the added pressure of the Dark Lord's return, there was a new desperation to their association.

The room was quiet except for the crackling of the perpetually lit fireplace, and the gently swish of a turned page. Lucius was sitting sprawled on one of the blue silk couches, his left arm slung across the backrest, and his right hand nursing a glass of a rather fine scotch, and an open book forgotten in his lap. He watched Severus turn a page with a sigh.

"Severus?"

"Yes?" He replied without looking up. Severus was absorbed by the book in front of him. He thought that by now Lucius should have learned better than to disturb him during research... or was his last accidental hexing not reminder enough?

"How can you spend all of your days engaged in such academic tedium…Surely you are in need of amusement?" Lucius flashed a devilishly brilliant smile. It was completely wasted on his taciturn guest. "I know a lovely courtesan by the name of Maria – she's Spanish, you know – the things she can do with her fingers…"

Severus felt his fingers begin to curl around the edges of the book. He affected a bored tone, "You know I don't find pleasure in such casual acquaintance." He finished with a sneer, "After all, I don't know where she's been."

Lucius let out a dramatic sigh, and ceased to mime the castanets. "If you insist... I never wanted to share her with you, anyway." He gave a delicate, offended sniff and focused once more on the amber liquid swirling in the crystal tumbler he held in his hand.

A few minutes passed, and another snick of a flipped page.

"Severus?"

"Yes?" came the gritted reply.

"You aren't still pining for that mudbood, are you? What's her name? Gardenia, Tulip?"

Severus gripped the book so hard the page he was on began to rip at the seam.

"No..."

Oblivious to his friend's discomfort, he blathered on.

"Ah, of course. No casual dalliance would do for you, old friend. I know what you need…" Lucius snapped his fingers as if suddenly filled with inspiration. "A wife!"

Severus sputtered, completely caught off guard. He looked up in disbelief. "A…a what?"

"A wife." Lucius stood up and began to pace in front of the fire place. "You know, free to still do as you please, but still someone warm to come home to and rub your feet…if you know what I mean."

_Rub his feet?_ "I'm sure I don't…"

He looked Severus up and down. "You certainly aren't getting any younger."

"And you're not getting any thinner," was the snarled reply.

Acting as if he hadn't heard the insult, Lucius walked over to where Severus was sitting. He placed his scotch on the table, grabbed the book from Severus' hands, shut it with a snap, and tucked it under his arm. Severus stood in outrage and made a grab for the book. Lucius side-stepped him with practiced ease, and shoved the sputtering potions master over towards the fireplace.

"Lucius, I swear if you even think about doing what I think you are, I will—"

Tossing the Floo powder into the fire, he cut off the beginning tirade and steered the potions master towards the flames. "Go home and don't worry about a thing, I should have a pretty surprise for you in a few weeks."

"Lucius Malfoy!"

"See you later, old chap. Spinner's End!"

With that, Lucius shoved Severus through and turned with a snap.

He had some planning to do.

* * *

Severus skidded across the floor like a boulder across water, and landed with a thud in his sitting room, having been all but thrown through the Floo. He stood and whipped out his wand, thinking to Apparate back immediately and show Malfoy the errors of presumptive ways, and stilled. Surely his friend wasn't serious about this half-hatched plan. No, it was simply Lucius being Lucius, he thought. Nothing would come of it. He would probably pursue it for about an hour before his aristocratic mind would grow bored and move on to other pursuits.

He tucked his wand back into his sleeve and shook his head. If he went back it would only antagonise Lucius into actually following through for once, he reasoned. Yes, better leave this one battle alone.

After all, Severus reminded himself, nothing would come of it.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Well, here I go again! Please take the time to read and review, let me know if there is anything you like, don't like, etc. And yeah, I know, canonically, the DE's didn't escape until halfway through year 5. I'm going to pretend it was summer, oops. Hopefully, everything else is correct! Let me know if you spot something.

And always, thanks for reading.

-Kore-Proserpina

* * *

Chapter 1

Several weeks of summer had past, and Severus Snape found himself once more a guest of Malfoy manor. Rather than the richly appointed trappings of the upper halls, he found himself in the bowels of the ancient home, surrounded by decay and despair. Voldemort had gathered his followers to celebrate not only the eve of his return, but the return of their long lost brothers from exile.

"Severus…" Lord Voldemort hissed from his throne. "I have just been given a most interesting proposal; care to guess the subject matter?"

"Proposal!" He heard a guffaw from somewhere to his left. "Tha's a funny one." He turned his head and discovered that it was Crabbe having a laugh at his expense. Giving a sneer, he turned his attention back to his lord. He drew forward from the replenished circle of Death Eaters around him and came to kneel at the feet of the wizard he had to once more call master. "No, my Lord, but if it pleases you to tell me?" Severus uttered with all obeisance.

He could only wonder what this news could be about. The escape of his 'fellows' had only occurred a few days prior and there had hardly been any time to plan any attack. In fact, he was sure that the only thing on their minds was the news that he was now considered one of the Dark Lord's most faithful (and it was a hard fight to regain the Dark Lord's confidence). When the Lestranges and the others had been imprisoned, raving their loyalty, he had been exonerated by none other than Albus Dumbledore. He was sure it would be a point of contention, if not outright hexing.

Severus was drawn from his thoughts by the feel of Nagini slithering past his side and up to Voldemort's lap.

"Yes, it does please me." Voldemort beckoned Lucius forward to the foot of his throne. "It has been brought to my attention that we have been less than…just in our dealings with you. You have been our most faithful and loyal servant, but for what reward?"

"A faithful servant needs no reward!" cried Bellatrix Lestrange, rushing forward to throw herself at Voldemort's feet. Severus yanked the hem of his robes from underneath her prone body. He had barely escaped being bowled over by the insane witch.

"One would think you were jealous," he drawled.

"Jealous?" Bellatrix's head snapped up. "Of you, you greasy-haired nit?"

He supposed that she considered her insane coiffure to be _Azkaban chic_. With a disdainful sniff in Bellatrix's direction, he smoothly replied. "As _dear_ Bella has affirmed, my Lord, your pleasure is indeed enough reward for your loyal servant. Why should I seek favour for merely performing my duty?"

"Duty? What duty?" Bellatrix interrupted yet again. "Is being kept like a pet in a cozy castle too much work for you, Snape? Hiding safe for years while the rest of us suffered through Azkaban to further our Lord's glory?"

Severus smirked behind his mask; he suddenly noticed her unmasked visage had an uncanny resemblance to a yappy Yorkshire terrier. "Pity. I'm sure you achieved so much in your stone cubicle. Rather like an office, wasn't it?"

She bristled. "Why, you—"

"Ah," Voldemort said with a chuckle, pausing to pet the head of Nagini and scratch under her scaly chin. "Like children, you squabble at the feet of your father, begging for a scrap of my affection.

"Unfortunately, today's gift is not for you, Bella." Voldemort stated. Bellatrix stood with a huff. "Now back to your place!" He sent a hex in her direction that had her scrambling to obey. Severus was glad his mask hid his grin of satisfaction, or he might have been next to be hexed.

Voldemort returned his attention to the Death Eater at his feet. "No, Severus held his place at Hogwarts as I had asked, even when many of you had thought my demise to be a fact, rather than the fairy tale spun by those muggle lovers. It must be dreadful slaving under that mudblood lover and his ilk, when he would rather be here with us."

"I serve where I am useful, my Lord." Severus could feel Bellatrix's snarling gaze on his back and it brought him no end of pleasure.

"Severus, rise. Lucius, go retrieve our reward." Bellatrix gave a sneer in Severus' direction, but changed to a crooked smile when she felt the heat of Voldemort's gaze upon her.

Malfoy returned after a few minutes, escorting a young woman into the hall. Severus turned his head to look at her. She was a petite thing, he noticed, barely reaching to his chin in height. She was wearing a rather plain, dark blue dress with mutton-sleeves and a full skirt. Her black hair was loose as if it had been wrenched from a tight chignon, and her gaze was fixed on the floor. He couldn't see her face, but he could tell that she was trembling.

Severus returned his attention to the Dark Lord.

"I have granted you a wife," Voldemort said with a gesture towards the young woman. "Lucius has found you a witch from finest pureblood stock and she will do well to elevate your less than illustrious _muggle_ name, Severus. We cannot blame you for an accident of birth."

Bellatrix cackled.

Lucius Bloody Malfoy... How could he have forgotten his friends promise to get him the last thing he desired on earth? Severus bowed his head as Voldemort continued. The tables were turned, and it was everything he could do to not hex Bellatrix for enjoying his misery. "And perhaps her pleasures will ah—brighten your demeanour."

Voldemort smiled darkly and the other Death Eaters laughed around them. With an abrupt wave, Voldemort silenced their laughter.

Severus bristled under his mask and tried to object. "My Lord, you are too generous," he said bowing lower, "Serving you is reward enough."

"Nonsense!" Voldemort replied with obvious glee. He turned his attention upon the frightened witch. "Step forward, girl! Let your husband see your face!"

With a nudge from a gloating Malfoy, she moved forward with hesitant steps until she stood just in front of Severus. Taking a deep breath, she raised her chin with barely a quiver, though her eyes did not meet his. He could see her small, pointed chin, her full lips, and cheeks that looked like they were bruised or had rouge hastily applied. He stared until her blue eyes met his.

"What are you waiting for?" Voldemort hissed. "Take off your mask so she may look at you!"

Severus quickly reached up and removed his mask, holding it between his hands. As his pallid features, beak of a nose, and stringy black hair came into view he swore he saw his bride-to-be shudder. He sneered in response. He didn't care if she was happy about the situation; it was just another complication that he could thank Lucius for.

"Wormtail! Bring me the contract!"

Pettigrew quickly shuffled forward with the parchment in question. With a wave of Voldemort's wand, a wooden table appeared before the unhappy couple, complete with a quill bearing a blood red plume. Pettigrew laid out the parchment and quickly skittered out of the way before being hit with a stinging curse.

"She brings you a healthy dowry," Voldemort said. "Lucius knows the particulars. Now, sign!"

With only a minor tremble, Severus stepped forward first and signed his name with the quill. He gave a hiss as he felt a slice go across the back of his hand. _Bound by blood_…he noted. It seemed that Lord Voldemort was going to be traditional about one thing (and by traditional, he meant medieval). His bride stepped forward and repeated the motion, letting out a gasp at the pain. With a snap, the scrolls rolled themselves up and disappeared with a pop.

Voldemort stood from his throne. "What are you all waiting for?" he addressed the Circle. "Congratulate the happy couple!"

He looked down to the couple before him. "Severus, because of the occasion, you may leave our gathering early." He gave a pointy smile.

"Enjoy your wedded bliss."

With a low, stiff bow, Snape Disapparated, new wife in tow.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

They landed with a pop inside of Severus' sitting room. He hastily let go of his bride's arm and stalked the short distance across the room. Severus paced in between the coffee table and the fireplace. He was absolutely infuriated!

His new wife took the opportunity to glance around the dark, stuffy room. "Are these the servants' quarters?"

Severus gave a cold sneer. "No, princess, this is it." He gestured with a sweep of his arm, nearly knocking over an electric floor lamp. "Welcome to Snape Manor, ancestral home to the great muggle House of Snape."

He watched as she turned and slowly took in the room, and he could see the thoughts of dismay and derision running through her mind. An ember of shame burned in his gut, and he felt heat rush to his face. What did he care what she thought of the place?

Blocking her view with his cloak, he reached over and righted the lampshade he had knocked askew.

His sitting room was less than welcoming, and that was on purpose. The walls were completely covered with bookshelves packed tight with old, leather bindings, and the mustard yellow chair and couch were threadbare, stained, and worn. A fireplace dominated the wall opposite the front door, the mantle adorned with dust and random knickknacks, and an old television console with antennae was jammed incongruously between the door leading to the kitchen and a pile of books. Everything was dusty and held an air of neglect.

"You're a muggleborn?" she asked carefully, stepping over another pile of books. "I thought you were a pureblood."

Another flare of heat rose to his cheeks; he hid it with a cool drawl. "Half-blood, actually. Were you not listening to a word at that mockery of a wedding? If I rated a pureblood bride, it's because there's something wrong with you." His eyes glinted with a malicious glow. "Well, what is it? Gimpy leg, lazy eye? One breast twice the size of the other?"

Affronted, she clutched at her chest. "Of all the...I never!"

"I will," he sneered. "After all, I'll get to see them eventually, wouldn't want to be surprised."

He heard her gasp as she turned away. Good, he thought. He wanted her to feel the same shame she had inflicted on him with her presence.

He couldn't believe that Lucius had actually gone through with this farce! The old bastard probably thought he was doing him a favour. He was perfectly happy with the way things were, thank you very much! He felt his molars grinding together and he had his fists so tightly clenched he was sure he drew blood. He was stretched thin enough as it was with responsibility. He had his teaching to tend to, Head of House duties, spying duties for Dumbledore, and hiding his true allegiances from the Dark lord whist still being the faithful Death Eater, and now he had this new baggage, being married to…to…

"What is your name?" he snapped, his eyes blazing their fury in her direction.

"Beatrice Dagworth…well, Snape, now, I suppose."

"Old family?"

Thinking this had something to do with her dowry and how he could improve his dismal lot, her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. What's it to you?" she sneered, clutching onto the back of the yellow, rickety armchair.

"What's it to me?" His lip raised in a snarl. He didn't have need for the backbone his bride had suddenly found. "What's it to me? What is anything to me?"

He took a step forward, and she held on to the chair as if it were a shield.

"This…" spittle flew with the force of his hiss. "This situation is entirely unacceptable! I didn't ask for this farce of a marriage. Did you?"

"No," she answered with barely a quiver. "But I am determined to make the best of what our L-lord requires of us." Beatrice raised her chin, daring him to find fault with her argument.

Severus froze. She thought he was loyal to the Dark Lord, so like a loyal Death Eater he had to act. On top of that, the Dark Lord could simply cast a _Legilemens _at her any time he felt like confirming his loyalties...or lack thereof. The sense of entrapment filled him with a blinding rage. With a roar, Severus turned for the fireplace mantle, gripped a crystal figurine in his fist and hurtled it at the ground. It shattered, spraying the wooden floor with glass shards.

Beatrice jumped as her new husband hurled the crystal figurine to the ground. His breathing was heavy as he stood head bowed and fists clenched. Beatrice held her breath, even as tears rose to her eyes, waiting to see what her volatile husband would do next. Would he turn his anger onto her?

Severus sat with a thud on the couch and stared into the empty fireplace. He took a shuddered breath and forced his mind to clear, feeling his icy restraint return to him.

Beatrice stepped out from behind the fortress of the armchair and pulled out her wand. "_Reparo_." The glass shards gathered themselves back into their original form. She knelt down to pick up the figurine and noticed that it was a tiny doe. She carefully sat to Snape's left, ready to bolt if his mood should return.

At the dip of the cushion's rusty springs, Severus turned his head to face her. She held out the doe figurine and he opened his hand to accept it. Beatrice placed the crystal in his palm, and he accepted it like a precious talisman. He held the figurine aloft, watching the light bend and refract through its clear surface, before placing the figurine on the coffee table in front of him. He reached out with his left hand, covering her small hand with his. She shivered as his thumb grazed the back of her wrist. Snape looked down silently at their joined hands and sighed. After a minute, he looked up and caught her pale blue eyes with his dark brown.

"I would like to know where I am kept," she asked, keeping the tremble in her voice to a minimum. "Can you show me to my bedroom, or do I have to sleep on the floor of the parlor?"

"Sitting room."

"Pardon?" She sniffed and wiped discreetly at her eyes with her free hand. He couldn't possibly mean that this is where she was to stay...

"Sitting room," Snape repeated. He gestured absently. "Call it a parlour and it might start getting airs, expecting new furniture and the like."

He had seen her tears and had felt a pang of regret. Blast his sharp tongue! It wasn't her fault, and he knew that. Broken glass, sharp words, and now a woman's tears. How closely he followed the path his father had blazed before him! That thought landed on him like a cauldron full of ice. He could almost feel his late mother's disappointed eyes drilling into his back.

"Madam?" He couldn't bring himself to say her name; such familiarity would only confirm their new status. Instead, he turned his body to face her and took both her hands in what he supposed was a comforting gesture. Beatrice flinched, and he cursed at himself for the direction he had let things travel. They were forced together, and he had to make the best of things.

"My anger gets the best of me sometimes." He swore he heard a snort of agreement from the lady in front of him. "I will endeavour to control myself better in the future, though I cannot promise much." He could explain, but he would not apologise outright.

Beatrice thought carefully about the man in front of her. She knew very little besides what he had seen with her own eyes. Her parent had told her of his great magical prowess, and Malfoy had boasted of his position in the dark lord's court when he had come to make the arrangements. Truth be told, both facts had scared her immensely. What she had not known was how little the man truly had to his name. She had thought him surely to be a man of wealth and prestige, and what she found out...well, he seemed a bit more human, though still rather frightening. How had he managed to garner such influence with so little?

She thought carefully on her answer. "I would rather hear the truth than a lie, no matter how well intentioned. I accept your apology."

He bristled and her misunderstanding; it was an explanation not an apology. Prudence guided him to carefully hide his rage at her condescension. "How magnanimous of you," he deadpanned.

The resulting silence was unbearable, so he stood as if the entire scene had never occurred. "Well, shall I give you a tour?"

* * *

Beatrice followed behind Severus as he led her through the hidden door leading through to the kitchen.

"This is the kitchen," he pointed out, as if the purpose of the room wasn't obvious. There was a muggle gas stove in one corner, a tarnished enamelled refrigerator in another. Why was he suddenly so nervous? Anger was a much better emotion, he thought, much more controllable...

"_Reparo_!" he whispered, seeing a broken handle on a drawer. Why did the disarray bother him now? With another wave of his wand, he set the week-old dishes in the sink to washing. Not that the piled up dishes were a regular occurrence, he had just been away at Hogwarts for a while, that's all. And perhaps he had bumped the drawer with a cauldron the last time he had been through…

_Rambling…_

He quickly moved her around the small dining table and over to the back door. Pulling aside the dingy lace curtain, he showed her the yard in the back. The ground was concrete, except for a small portion devoted to herbs. Remnants of an old clothesline waved its tattered ends from metals loops on the fence, and an old, forgotten communal water closet original to the house stood in the corner. He quickly shut the curtain. "There's nothing of interest out here, unless you have a fascination with concrete."

She followed him back towards the sitting room, and saw Severus leading to yet another bookshelf that lined the walls of the room. She saw him reach out and pull a blue book on the third shelf. This opened to a staircase that led upstairs. Severus thought to be polite and let her lead up the stairs, but then realised better—he didn't know what was there to greet them. He tugged on the front of his black robes to straighten them and then made his way up the stairs.

"Over here to the right is a spare room and the loo," he said with a dismissive gesture. "This door on the left leads to the bedroom." He cracked the door open and thanked whoever was listening that this one room was spotless.

He opened to door wider to allow Beatrice entry. She stepped around him and entered the room. There was a sturdy wardrobe and a desk on one wall, and a modest bed with a pale green coverlet gracing another. A worn blue rug covered a circle on the floor, and matching curtains covered the window overlooking the yard. A wardrobe took care of the remaining wall.

"It's nice," she said. Severus thought she had to be lying. "Quaint."

She turned to face him. "Do you mind if I change before dinner?"

"Dinner?" Severus cursed under his breath. There was nothing in the refrigerator downstairs. "Yes," he said finally. "But keep it simple."

"Why?" she asked innocently enough.

Severus could feel a vein starting to pulse on his temple. His lip curled into a half-snarl. "We are going out. Don't need the neighbours getting any nosier than they already are."

"But what would my attire matter? I don't see..."

"Muggle neighbours," he gritted out.

"Oh."

"Quite." He stepped around her and reached into the wardrobe, pulling out a couple of dark coloured items.

"I will meet you downstairs. Don't dawdle."

And with that, he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Severus Snape paced downstairs, waiting for his new wife. What could be taking so long? He rested his left hand on a shelf. When he picked it up, it was covered in a gray layer of dust. Disgusted, he used a scouring charm on his hand and cleared away most of the dust with a wave. Just as he was about to yell up the stairs, he heard footsteps coming down to meet him. She had changed into a slim cream gown with a high buttoned neckline, her black hair pulled back tightly into a knot at her neck.

"Passable."

That comment earned him a glare. She looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow in question.

He was wearing one of his few sets of muggle clothes, a pair of dark gray trousers and a navy turtleneck jumper.

She looked askance at his attire. Why did he feel the need to explain?

"_Muggle _neighbours."


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you, all, for your reviews! NanamiYatsumaki, Kniga-Sitara, Midnight Lilly, Thank you for your kind words. RB, your comments made me laugh! Is Malfoy scheming for his own benefit, or for Snape's? Perhaps time will tell. And yes, gotta love Bella.

* * *

Chapter 3

_CREEAK. _No need to announce their arrival at the pub-cum-diner; the door did it for them.

They were entering the Cock and Cider, the only remaining establishment of any repute left in the neighbourhood, and the only place to get food at this time besides the roaming food cart. It was a favorite haunt of the few remaining locals, including old friends of his father, which is exactly why Severus made it standard practice to avoid it.

The inside was dimly lit and hadn't been updated since Severus himself was a boy, and sported a tobacco-stained ceiling, worn, wooden floorboards, and booths and tables crowded around the room.

An old man with a grubby white shirt turned on his stool at the bar and surveyed the newcomers. "Ooh, look 'ere," he called, raising his pint to get everyone's attention. "It's old Snapey's boy comin' down from on high to mingle with us mere mortals."

Beatrice put her arm through Snape's and whispered in his ear, "Do you know him?"

He ignored her, and continued to walk towards the counter.

"An' he's got a lady friend wiv 'em, too," called another man, well into his sixth round, if the glasses stacked in front of him and his chums were to be believed.

"Who's the bird, Snape?"

"Bugger off," he replied.

As they got closer, the barmaid put town the glass she had been polishing. "When'd you go an' get married? Lookie-here, Snape's got himself a wife!" The barmaid exclaimed. The dim light in the room had caught on the gold bands Severus and Beatrice now wore. Snape had transfigured them out of an old tin can he had found down the road, just in case someone got any ideas.

"Oy, Snape! Where'd you find a right prize like that?" jeered the drunk in the corner booth.

"Prob'ly got her where was doin' whoteva' it is 'e does most of the year," the old-timer said with a wheezy laugh.

"Well, ain't she a looker."

Beatrice blushed, made embarrassed and uncomfortable by the attention. "Can we leave?" she hissed.

"I thought you were hungry." Severus turned to the counter. The barmaid shoved a mangled menu towards him. He shook of the crumbs, and peered at it in the dim light. "Two orders of fish and chips." An uninspired choice, but it was the one safe item on the menu.

"Gotcha, now go grab a spot while I get this taken care of."

Severus turned to lead them to a table, and saw one of the regulars lewdly lick their lips while staring at his wife. He was tempted to pull out his wand then and there. Instead, he turned abruptly, startling Beatrice. "Make that takeaway," he stated tersely.

The wait wasn't long before they had their food wrapped up in a brown paper sack, and Severus had hustled his wife out the door, and back into the peace of the night.

They walked down the cobble roads and back up the hill to Spinners End. Beatrice noticed the abundance of abandoned and derelict houses, so she asked about it.

"Not much reason to stay after the mill closed down," Severus replied.

"Then why did you?"

Her only answer was a shrug. Changing the topic, she said "The food smells nice. Is it?"

"Passable."

She paused in annoyance, causing Severus to have to stop and turn before he got more than a few paces ahead. He turned to see her standing with her hands on her hips, and her foot tapping in agitation.

"That's your favourite word, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Passable."

He smirked. "Only when addressing dunderheads."

That response only made her mood darker. "First my dress is _passable,_ and then the food is _passable_. Oh, _passable_ weather we're having, just a _passably_ fair jaunt down the road. Doesn't that sound _passably_ nice?"

He reached up and grabbed her upper arm in a vice grip. "Stop," he hissed. "You're being ridiculous."

She jerked her arm out his grasp. "Am not!" she replied, just as fierce. "Don't you feel anything other than annoyance?"

He rolled his eyes. Was this a preview of the rest of his life? "When dealing with you, certainly not."

She turned with a huff and started making her way down the hill.

"The house is this way!" Severus called at her retreating back. All he got in reply was her flipping him the bird, a muggle move that he was certain she had no business knowing.

"Fine!" With a snarl, he dropkicked the bag of food into the street and turned with a snap, marching his way up the hill on his own. She was a grown witch, and as far as he was concerned, she could fend for herself.

* * *

Beatrice found herself sitting in an abandoned old playground at dusk. A giant chimney was silhouetted against the evening sky, with the pinnacle beginning to fade into the darkening sky. The street lamps had popped on as she had stomped her way the opposite direction down the hill. It was her turn to emotionally explode.

She couldn't believe the mess she found herself in, married to an absolute ogre of a wizard, and by the one wizard who had no business butting into her personal life. What business did she have being involved with the Dark Lord? Curse her brother for dragging her family into this mess! They were an old, respectable family, and now—

"Merlin's beard!"

Beatrice had tripped over a loose cobble and found herself on her knees. She hobbled over to the swing set and had a seat. She had twisted her ankle, and it was only her boots that were preventing her ankle from swelling.

Sitting there, she felt like crying.

* * *

When she finally trudged her way back up the hill to Spinner's End, the sun had set completely and there was only the occasional street lamp to illuminate the roadway. Being so close to muggles, she was afraid to use a lumos to light her way. On the side of the road, she came upon a fox feasting on the remains of what was supposed to be their dinner. The bag was ripped, and soggy chips cascaded down the sidewalk. She felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away with her sleeve. Beatrice cursed herself for being ridiculous.

She finally limped her way to the end of the road and saw his—_her _house_. _There was a light on downstairs, casting a yellow light through the curtain. It was ugly, plain, and somewhere she would have never pictured to be the house of Severus Snape, rumoured right hand of the Dark Lord. She held the wrought iron rail led up the four steps to the wooden front door, and she grasped the brass doorknob. Beatrice hesitated before turning the knob, certain that she would be locked out, especially after she had foolishly stalked off into a place full of muggles. She prayed that she would be allowed inside without having to face repercussions. Instead of the resistance she expected, the handle turned with a gentle _snick_, and she pushed open the door and entered the sitting room.

Severus was there, seated on the armchair with his booted feet propped up on a small leather ottoman she hadn't noticed before. The evening edition of _The Prophet_ was open in his lap. Beatrice sighed; he didn't even look up to see her there. Perhaps she was safe. She shut the door and locked it with an absent flick of her wand.

"Thank you for leaving the door unlocked. It was kind of you…especially since I don't have a key yet."

A rustle of paper and a grumble were her only replies.

"It seems that it's my turn to apologise," she began. "The permanence of everything just seemed to hit me and I—"

"I accept."

"Just realis—what?" It wasn't going to be that easy, was it?

"I accept your apology." She noticed he was studiously gazing at the gossip section.

"Um…well, thank you."

Severus closed the paper, placed it on the armrest, and leaned forward, wiping his face with his hands. "Look, I'm exhausted. Let's go to bed and pretend that today never happened."

"Bed?" Her face flushed as she stuttered over the word.

He gave a _tsk_ of annoyance. "Separately." She was sure there was an unspoken insult in that word.

Beatrice was sure her face was glowing brighter than the lamp.

"I'll take the sofa and you can have my bed."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "It is your house, I'd hate to…"

He pointed up the stairs and cut her off with a snarl. "Go upstairs and get in bed before I change my mind!"

Instead of cowering like expected, she gave a clap of delight and made for the stairs. Her journey stopped suddenly in front of him. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, startling him frozen. "Thank you, Severus." With that, Beatrice made her way up the stairs.

"Bloody woman."

Severus summoned a blanket and settled in for the night. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Again, thank you everyone for your reviews! Please keep them coming.

* * *

Chapter 4

The next morning, Beatrice found herself awakened by the light filtering through the blue curtains on the window. She felt warm, cozy, and lazy, not wanting to get up just yet. _Blue? _This wasn't her bedroom at home. The feeling of comfort she awoke with drained swiftly away as she remembered the events of the day before. Her new husband was down stairs, and that he probably expected her to play the role of a good pureblooded wife and run the household. Well, she could do that…or at least prepare a decent morning cup. The rumble in her stomach prompted her to further action; she needed to prepare a decent showing to make up for her blunders of last night. A hiss escaped as her left foot made contact with the floor and she forced back and errant tear at another reminder of her ineptitude. She had forgotten about the damage she had managed to cause her ankle, and dreaded having to ask for help.

Stepping gingerly over to the wardrobe, Beatrice dressed in another plain, high-necked garment that she had managed to find among the frippery in her bags (she doubted her new husband would be a fan of lace), and then made her way to the bathroom to complete her morning ablutions.

Downstairs, she found herself in the presence of a still-sleeping Snape. Severus was fully dressed and sprawled out on the couch with his long legs awkwardly splayed out on the too short space, his left arm hanging towards the ground and the other hugging a pillow to his chest. His blanket had slid its way down to his waist; it covered only one leg and the rest was piled haphazardly on the floor.

"Sev—" Beatrice caught herself. If there was one thing she had learned in life, it was to let sleeping wizards lie, especially dark ones. She had no desire to be hexed first thing in the morning. Instead, she carefully made her way halfway up the stairs, before using her boot heels for maximum effect on the wood of the stairs. When she could see Severus again, he was sitting up, blanket folded to one side, and tiredly rubbing his face.

"Severus," she greeted cheerfully.

"Beatrice," he grunted.

He was obviously not a morning person. As Beatrice made her way down the last step, her heel wobbled, and she couldn't hold back the whimper escaping her lips.

Severus' head snapped up. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," she murmured.

His lip curled. "Hardly. I'll ask you again, and remind you not to lie to me in my own house, _wife."_

The rebuke brought a flush of colour to her face.

"Now again, what's wrong?"

"I tripped last night, and my ankle…"

"Foolish woman," he cut her off. "Why didn't you tell me last night?"

"You were angry, and I…I didn't want to bother you any more than I already have," she admitted softly.

His ire softened as he took in the discomfited look on her face. "Come here." She swiftly complied and he had her sit at the armchair across from him, propping her foot up on the ottoman. Shifting forward, he kneeled at her feet, and reached for the laces on her boot. He took her downcast eyes as silent permission, and unlaced the brown boot, placing it down at his side. He averted his eyes as she unhooked her stocking, and then pulled the white silk off and placed it to the side.

The pale skin of her limb was discoloured by the angry bruising around the ankle. He felt her shiver at the feel of his hands on her skin, and couldn't tell if it was from disgust, or something else. Her foot was tiny, dainty, the skin smooth and pale. He was captured by the contrast with his rough, potion-stained hands.

"Where does it hurt?" he finally asked.

"There on the left," she said, gesturing towards the outside of her ankle. He palpated the joint, finding the tender areas, and directed his wand towards them, tapping the tip against her skin as he murmured softly under his breath. Beatrice was scarcely breathing as he worked, afraid to break the silence that surrounded them. A sensation of intense warmth filled the area, and then dissipated. She wiggled her ankle experimentally, and there was no more pain.

Beatrice leaned forward to where she could reach him. "Thank you, Severus," she whispered. Boldly, she reached forward and touched his face with her hand, skimming the rough stubble of his jaw with her fingertips as she gave him a soft smile. Severus felt his face color, and ducked his head, hiding behind his hair. Hastily clearing his throat, he stood and strode off towards the kitchen. "I'll see to breakfast."

"I can get it...Oh, all right." Before she could finish her thought, Severus had already disappeared into the kitchen. It was once more her turn to blush. It was the first day of her marriage and he was already cooking for her, and here she was, making herself a burden. _Wouldn't mother be proud?_

The remnants of toast and jam littered the kitchen table where they sat in a parody of domestic bliss. Severus was reading the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, and Beatrice had retrieved an embroidery sample from her valise upstairs. The only sounds came from the flap of a page and the ticking from the clock on the wall.

"Will I be allowed to visit my parents?"

"Parents?" His eyebrows shot skyward. The innocent question shook him more than expected, and he closed his paper with a snap. He hadn't had a chance to think through the implications any further than sleeping arrangements, and now he had to worry about her parents? He was too old for this, and had little desire to involve himself in anyway. He finally responded, "Why weren't your parents at our, ah—ceremony?"

Beatrice felt her heart begin to race; she missed a stitch as her hands began to shake. How was she to explain their reticence to him without being questioned about her loyalty?

"They wish to support our L…lord from a less public position," she finally cobbled together.

"Right."

Severus stared at her, and she fought the urge to fidget.

"You may visit them at any time, but warn me before you invite them over."

She could have melted with relief. "Thank you, Severus."

He grumbled a reply and reopened the paper.

"And your parents?" she asked, fishing for more about him.

"Dead." He didn't even look up as he answered.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

"Oh…" Beatrice wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Well, was it your mother that was the witch?"

He turned a page. "I'm surprised Lucius didn't send you my pedigree in triplicate," he commented loftily. "Or did he and you've simply forgotten? Probably a poor study at Hogwarts, as well," he mused.

She visibly bristled, but held her tongue. "I attended Beauxbatons, actually." Well, that would explain why he had never seen her before; she looked young enough have been one of his students. He hoped that was the end of their inane conversation, but it seemed that he was not that lucky.

"Mother felt that it would be more proper for my station if I were to perfect my French."

"Did you?"

His response was a ducked head and renewed fascination to the stitches in her lap.

"Ah, I see." He couldn't help throwing in another dig. "I suppose that's why you ended up with me."

"Clearly."

This time, the silence was less difficult.


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Again, thank you to all of you who reviewed! RB… I'm just going to say this. Wow. Wowwowwow! To answer your questions, just let me say yes. As to what part… we shall have to see! And Guest, I'd have to answer your question with, a little of each.

Please review! I will post another chapter tomorrow.

* * *

Chapter 5

The clock in his cellar chimed softly, rousing Severus from the beakers and cauldron in front of him. Judging by the time, lunch was swiftly approaching, and he realised that he still had nothing about in the house to eat. Tinned kippers would only get them so far, he reasoned with a sneer, especially with whatever fancies he was sure his wife was used to eating.

He threw a lazy stasis charm at the cauldron of Pepper-Up, and made his way outside, locking the cellar door behind him. The way to the cellar was through the back yard; slightly inconvenient when it rained (which was always), but at least he didn't run the risk of fumigating his entire house.

"Beatrice," he called as he entered the sitting room. Severus didn't know if he would ever get used to the idea of sharing a home with another person. To his surprise, he found her sitting primly around the stack of books he had left on the couch, carefully not touching anything. Her thread was even stacked on the only part of his coffee table that was not swamped with parchment. She was dwarfed by the chaos around her, and had somehow found a way to avoid disturbing any of it. _Damn her. _

He was irritated that he had no reason to yell and yanked an old coat off of the coat rack in the corner. "I have to go into town for a few things. Stay here and do not answer the door," he ordered.

Beatrice stood quickly. "Where are you going?"

"Well, unless you've found a way to survive without food…" he drawled.

A frown appeared on her face. "I was simply wondering. Could I go with you?" she asked. I had several items I wished to pick up from my parents' house."

Fearsome Death Eater or not, Severus blanched at the idea of having to run into any of her kin. Hanging up the coat, he strode into the kitchen and pulled out a spare bit of parchment and a quill out of a drawer. "Here," he said, signing a draft letter for his Gringott's account. He was simply going to head into town, but if she wanted to head to London and Diagon Alley, she was welcome to it. "Don't drain the thing dry while you are out. Sorry it's not the bottomless pit that you're accustomed to."

Beatrice didn't appreciate his snide remarks, but she let them gloss over her. "Am I going by myself?" she asked.

Severus gave her a look that he usually reserved for second year Hufflepuffs.

With a sigh, Beatrice finally reached out and took the paper, placing it in her robe pocket. "Is there anything in particular that you wanted?"

* * *

Beatrice landed at the apparition point just outside of the Three Broomsticks. She hiked her wicker shopping basket under her arm and entered the main thoroughfare. A thought crossed her mind as she approached the crowds: what if she ran into someone she knew? Did she keep her marriage a secret, or for that matter, would Severus even want anybody to know? The flashes of his temper were volatile enough that she had no desire to see what it was like to really incur his wrath. It's not like she was ashamed or anything… she just had little desire to share the truth. Beatrice could only imagine how the conversation would run:

_And how has your weekend been?_

_Oh, just splendid! I was just married off to a Death Eater._

_Really? Was it a nice ceremony?_

_Certainly, it's not every day a girl is lucky enough to be wed by Voldemort. The eau d'decay led a splendid note to the décor…_

She quickly abandoned the idea of sharing the news with anybody.

* * *

Severus sat heavily in the spot that his new wife had vacated. To his infinite displeasure, he heard the rumble of books toppling to his feet. _Blast!_ How had she… the books… _damn her_; she was neater with his own things than he was.

He leaned forward and cradled his head with his hands, carding his fingers through his limp hair, and sighed. It seemed that his days of bachelorhood were forcefully over. He had a wife, in name at least, and he had no clue if he wanted anything else from her. He assumed a physical relationship would be involved somewhere...she was decent to look at, he supposed. Is it what he wanted? What she wanted? He remembered the look of disgust she had directed his way when they had met, and had little desire to face it again. Severus knew he was not much to look at with his cassowary beak for a nose, stringy hair, and pallid features. He wouldn't blame her for not looking twice at him. But then again, did it matter? He had to play the sordid role of a Death Eater, and all of the twisted morals that went with it. Unbidden, the image of his hands on her ankle flashed through his mind. He remembered how smooth and soft the skin of her leg had been, how demurely she had wrapped her skirt about her legs, how delicate she felt to his touch, and he wanted…

He coloured with shame and disgust at his unwanted attraction to this witch. She would never submit to him, and anything less would be unconscionable. He had enough stains on his soul to stomach anymore. Damn her for getting under his skin!

And then there was Lily Evans. He glanced up at the repaired figurine on his mantle and sighed.

_Oh, Lily..._

The pain of remembering warred with the torture of moving on. He would never be rid of her, nor did he ever think to desire such.

Severus stood and picked up the glass figurine, fingering it lightly before placing back in its place of honour.

There was nothing to gain in being maudlin. He shoved the memories to the back of his mind and sought a distraction with anything else. His mind traveled to thoughts of the Order. He had to owl Dumbledore right away and inform him of his change in circumstances. However, he found himself strangely reluctant to do so. He could only imagine how that series of letters would go:

_Headmaster, at the last meeting, I found myself being married off to a pureblood bride. Not sure if it was for political reasons, sinister, or otherwise._

_Severus, you finally found you a girl? Congratulations my boy! Where do her loyalties lie?_

_Headmaster, again it was an __arranged__ marriage. Most certainly loyal to the Dark Lord._

_Severus, I must insist on meeting her. Does she like sherbet lemons?_

A frisson of disgust ran through him; he would never tell a soul, and certainly not Dumbledore.

* * *

Finally, though the judicious use of wizard space and shrinking charms, the last book had found its way back onto a shelf. Severus wiped the dust from his hands and stuck his wand back up his sleeve.

The front door opened. "You've been cleaning!" Severus spun around to see Beatrice come in carrying her basket; it appeared stuffed to the brim with all sorts of foodstuffs. She used her shoulder to push the front door shut, and placed the basket on the coffee table that Severus had just finished clearing.

"How thoughtful," he heard her continue brightly. "You didn't have to do that. I've brought Dippy with me to do all of that for us." She shrugged delicately. "Part of my dowry, you could say."

A house elf... He felt a muscle in his forehead twitch. He hated house elves.

Hated.

The elf in question popped into view. He sneered as he looked down upon it. All elves were the same: bug eyed and twitchy, and his privacy would be hexed to hell with their bony little fingers digging into everything. This one was particularly shabby, what with its patchwork toga looking like bits and pieces of every formal gown her mistress had worn, with a belt that looked like it had been made out of a curtain tie. It had massive bug eyes and disgustingly large floppy ears. Severus was forcibly reminded of a deformed velveteen rabbit. He'd bet his last knut that this one couldn't even keep secrets properly.

"Dippy," Beatrice called, "meet your new master."

The elf stepped forward. "Master Snape, sir." It trembled before him, looking like it very much wanted to cower under its mistress' skirts. The elf bowed low and its floppy ears slapped the ground causing a cloud of dust to swirl around his feet.

Severus peered down at Dippy. She looked familiar to him, now that he thought about it. "Where have I seen you before, elf?"

Dippy grabbed her ears and pulled them tight around her head. "Um... Dippy doesn't—"

Severus took at threatening step forward, and the elf finally gave into the urge and dashed behind Beatrice's skirt.

"Groceries to shelve... Dippy must see to dinner!" With that, Dippy popped out of the room, taking the basket with her.

Severus looked at Beatrice darkly. "Must we have that _thing_ here?"

"Thing? I've had Dippy since I was a little girl." Her eyes narrowed. "And I won't have you harassing my elf."

Severus weighed the consequences of banning the creature from his house entirely. In the interest of domestic peace, he gave in. "Fine. Keep that creature out of my lab!"

* * *

A/N: On a side note, do any of you, dear readers, speak French? I need a little assistance with a later chapter.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter contains a series of vignettes to move their relationship along.

Rated M for...a very active imagination.

* * *

Chapter 6

They were arguing about money... again. It had only been a week since that 'fateful day,' as he liked to call the unexpected end to his bachelorhood, but to Severus, it felt like a month. He didn't give a shrivelfig how much truffle oil would improve the flavour of whatever dish Dippy (he secretly called her Dipstick) was going to prepare, it was expensive, useless as a potions ingredient, and that was the bloody well end of it.

"Why does everything have to be about money with you?" Beatrice asked, hurt in her voice.

It wasn't about money, he wanted to say, it was about necessity. He had no desire to tell her about his years of growing up scrimping and saving the little money his father didn't spend on drink, and how his mother had hidden money under loose floorboards just to be able to afford some second-hand robes and books for him to use at Hogwarts. Oh, he was sure she had no clue what it was like to be one of the wretched 'have nots'; it was as plain as the velvet shoes on her feet and the jewellery adorning her ears and wrists. The only thing he had managed to give her was a transfigured wedding band, and even that had been made from rubbish.

Well, she certainly wouldn't be getting any jewels and gold out of him. She would just have to get used to doing without the finer things in life.

In the end, he only said, "Not everyone is as privileged as you."

He gleefully enjoyed the shame on her face as she realised what had been implied there. It was almost worth the self abasement.

* * *

Beatrice was in the kitchen, trying out a mille-feuille recipe that her grandmother had given her. Even with using her wand, rolling out the pastry dough still took forever. During all of this time, she had not seen nor even heard her husband in the house.

"Dippy, hold the book up over here for me." The elf moved to hold the book up so her mistress could read it. Beatrice sighed and pointed her wand at the dough, giving it a quick fold, then a twist to roll it out flat.

Now that she thought about it, she was sure that Severus was still somewhere in the house. He hadn't gone anywhere (if he had, he would have yelled at her to keep the door shut and not let anybody in), and a quick peek out into the sitting room confirmed that his cloak and coat were still hung on the coat rack.

_WHAM!_

Beatrice spun to face the back door and gave a small scream of terror as the door was flung open. Her arm knocked over the bag of flour and sent a cloud of white dust swirling into the air.

"Damned apothecary!" a masculine voice snarled.

When the dust cleared, she saw that it was only Severus. She sighed and gave a baleful glare to the flour covered floor. She supposed it's what she deserved for wondering where he was; speak of the devil and all of that rot.

"Oh no! Mistress's floors is ruined!" Dippy dropped the book and pulled her ears at the horror that lay in front of her. "Dippy must clean nasty mess."

Severus stomped inside, kicking the kneeling Dippy out of the way. "I can't believe that lazy apothecary saw fit to mix female Hercules beetles into my Egyptian scarabs." He left white foot prints on the floor that Dippy hastily set to scrubbing as he went to the sink and washed his soot covered face.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "And why did you kick Dippy?" Severus turned to face her, and she was sure she looked a fright. There was flour everywhere from her hair to her toes, and she had him to thank for scaring her so.

"That creature was in my way," he snarled. "What happened to you?"

He could see her itching to snarl something in defence of her elf, and was surprised when she did not. "I could ask the same," was her smooth reply.

He smirked; they sure were a picture together, he covered in black soot and her in white dust. Severus finally relented and let her in on his secret. "Come here."

"I'm baking, if you haven't noticed."

"Is that what you call it? And here I thought you were simply making a mess." He gestured to the elf on the floor. "Get Dippy to finish it. Isn't that what elves are for?"

With a put-upon sigh, Beatrice complied. She pulled out her wand and banished the mess from them both. "Dippy, finish grandmother's recipe. I suppose we'll be back shortly." Dippy nodded, sending her floppy ears flying, and conjured a stool so she could get to work. Beatrice gave her elf a fond pat on the head.

"All right, where are you taking me?"

Severus took a step forward and surprised them both by taking her arm in his. "I want to show you where I disappear to all of the time."

He led her out of the back door and into the small yard. "What are you showing me out here?" she asked.

"You'll see." He pointed his wand at the pile of wooden crates leaning against the outside wall. _"Finite incantatem."_

The crates shimmered as the illusion fell to reveal unlocked wooden doors to the cellar.

Picking up the door, he gestured, "After you."

Beatrice descended the stairs and found herself surrounded by vials and jars of every colour. "Is this your lab?" she asked, wonderment colouring her tone.

Severus inwardly preened. "Yes, this is where I do my brewing outside of Hogwarts." He watched as she walked around the room, taking stock of the various implements lining the walls, the equipment on the solid oaken tables, and the cauldrons he had set up, ready to be used.

"Do you brew?" he asked suddenly.

Beatrice removed her hand from the lip of the cauldron like it was on fire. "Oh no, I'm not very good at all."

"Really?" he drawled. "Is Madam Amandier not up to snuff? Oh dear, maybe I should owl to let her know that her teaching efforts have been in vain."

Beatrice blushed. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Prove it."

"What?" she asked incredulously.

He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. "I said... prove it."

"Do you really want me to blow up you and your house?" Beatrice started backing away from the cauldron and towards the stairs.

"I doubt that your incompetence could reach anywhere near Longbottom level."

"Who?"

"Never mind." He plunked a pewter cauldron down on the stand in front of her. He grabbed a fifth year text from the ones stacked in the corner and flipped it over to a seemingly random page. With a flourish his placed it to her right and stood back. "Page two hundred and ninety-eight. You have fifty minutes."

With that proclamation, he stood back, crossed his arms, and assumed his classroom demeanour. Beatrice gulped as she leaned over the book in front of her. "A Drowsiness Draught?" Of all the stupid, useless—why did she have to do this?

She glanced over at her husband glowering in the front of the room, and suddenly understood why he had such a fearsome reputation.

She started to brew.

Fifty minutes, three burnt fingers, and two plasters later, the liquid in her cauldron has assumed a shimmery blue hue. She peered at the page in front of her and back at her cauldron. She supposed one could call it cornflower blue.

"Passable."

Beatrice jumped when Severus had suddenly appeared behind her. He waved her off dismissively and she stood aside. Picking up the glass stirring rod, he dipped it in the cauldron and observed the liquid dripping from the tip. He sniffed at the fumes and checked the viscosity of the brew.

"Well?" Beatrice asked nervously.

"You won't kill anybody."

"That's it?" She couldn't believe that was the end of it. She had worked hard on that potion; at least a 'good job' would have been appreciated.

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you want a parade in your honour? You brewed a potion; it's not like you found the thirteenth use for dragon's blood."

Her shoulders slumped. "Oh. Thank you, I guess."

She turned to pick up her tools, and was surprised when she was waved off yet again. "Go inside," he dismissed her. "I'll clean up here."

"Really?"

"Unless you want me to change my mind..."

She gave a smile and touched his shoulder as she went past. She supposed that cleaning up was his way of thanking her. "Thank you for showing me all of this. I appreciate it."

"Humbug."

As she left the cellar, he could help but give a small smile of his own.

* * *

Today was an unusual day. Severus had found himself persuaded, nay, badgered, into spending time in his meagre back yard. Beatrice had persuaded him into building some flower beds for her to tend and he had ungraciously obliged, on the sole condition that once built, he never had to touch or tend said gardens ever again. He was perfectly content with his herb garden and didn't understand why the lack of flowers was so devastating to her female psyche.

He had long ago finished building the raised beds out of wood, concrete, and magic, and was seated in a rusty lawn chair as he watched her work. They had gone into town earlier that day to purchase the potting soil and plants that she was so lovingly arranging in the beds. Severus felt his eye twitching at the thought of caring for such useless plants.

Beatrice was bent over the flower beds patting the petunias into place, completely heedless of his heated glare to her backside. How dare she, he thought. How dare she stand there with her pert little posterior so disgustingly at eye level. He had no desire to see how shapely the silhouette of her legs were with the sunlight behind her, or how well the span of her hips contrasted with her sleek waist...it was enough to drive any wizard mad with lus–with rage. Yes, rage.

Severus cleared his throat and pulled at his collar. Those hips were now swaying back and forth to a hummed melody that only Beatrice could hear; he found the sight hypnotizing. He imagined what her legs looked like underneath that infuriatingly opaque skirt of hers. He knew she wore silk stockings, he remembered from the night she had sprained her ankle. He wanted to run his hands up to the suspenders he knew would bisect that creamy derriere of hers. Perhaps he'd teach her a lesson regarding her insolent manner.

Oh yes, maybe he would snap those suspenders just enough to make her squirm before he would bend her over his lap. His fingers itched as he remembered the smooth skin of her leg. He imagined running his calloused hands over her bare skin and then spanking her until her pale skin blushed to put any rose to shame. He imagined how she would mewl and writhe against him and he delighted in the image. That would teach her to stand bent over like that.

Beatrice stood and stretched, her hands on the small of her back. The move thrust her breasts forward and drew Severus' eyes with them. Maybe after he had had his fill of her backside he would move to those undoubtedly delicious breasts of hers and–

"Severus?"

He stopped short when he realised said breasts were now directly in front of his face. He stuttered as he caught sight of the enormous erection taking over his lap. Horrified, he hunched forward, crossed his legs, and prayed to God that Beatrice hadn't noticed.

"What?" he barked, his gruff tone masking his embarrassment.

"I'm going inside for a bit, would you like me to bring you some lemonade?" she offered.

He grumbled something to the affirmative, and Beatrice turned to go inside. He held his breath as he waited for the door to shut. He exhaled with huff and collapsed in his seat. Beatrice would be the death of him.

* * *

"Bloody skrewts!" Severus banged open the front door and slammed it behind him, causing the sound echoed all the way upstairs. Beatrice could hear the commotion from where she was up in the bedroom, and started down the stairs.

"I beg your pardon?" she called, and nearly ran into her husband as he stomped his way up the stairs, forcing her against the wall as he shoved his way past. She quickly followed him and stopped when her foot suddenly found itself in a pile of wet mush.

"Oh, how horrid! Severus, what is this?" she asked, lifting up her skirts to see what she had stepped in. It was a pile of rancid, red slime, sticky and stringy to the touch. She pulled her wand out and scourgified the mess. She followed Severus into the bedroom he had disappeared in and demanded an answer.

"That oaf, Hagrid, is what happened," he replied as he shucked off his robes. They gave a wet plop has they landed in a sodden pile of wool and slime. "Hagrid and his damned excuse for pets."

"Pets? What kind of animal would create this type of mess...and why are you tracking it through my clean house? You know I've spent weeks cleaning it up from the cesspool you gave me to start with."

He ignored her first question. Severus watched her stand there with her hands on her hips and rolled his eyes has he unbuttoned his sleeve cuffs. "Yes, and thank you very much for cleaning my 'cesspool', your highness. And as for why... the fireproofing finish on these robes is very expensive and I didn't want to ruin it with a scourgify."

"Really?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the bed. "What do expect me to do that a scourgify cannot?"

He finally got all of the buttons done, and irritably pulled his shirttail free from the waist of his trousers. "It's not what I expect you to do, it's what that blasted elf of yours is for. Dippy!"

Dippy popped into the room with a crack. "Yes, Master Snape, sir. What can Dippy do?"

Severus gestured to the pile of robes at his feet. "When I'm done changing, I want you to take my clothes and launder them, understood?"

The elf bobbed her head and her ears flapped about. "Yes, master, sir. Dippy will come back when master is ready." Dippy popped out of the room and Severus began to tackle to row of buttons down the front of his shirt.

The first sight of Severus' bare chest seemed to break Beatrice out of the daze she was in. "What are you doing?" she asked.

He gave her a look of exasperation. "Changing, woman. What does it look like?"

She gulped as the last buttons were undone, revealing his pale, alabaster skin, and the sparse black hair that dusted his chest and formed a trail down his firm belly, and she was sure continued down to his...well, down past his waist; she couldn't bring herself to think of anything more.

Severus noticed how ill at ease she was, and couldn't pass up the change to sneer. "You're acting like you've never seen a naked man before."

"N...n...naked?" He enjoyed the fervent blush that coloured her face. "You know that I haven't."

Beatrice was fighting hard to hide her embarrassment, and wasn't sure if she should turn away, if not for propriety, then for the sake of her own sanity.

"Is that so?" he said, feigning a nonchalant tone. He had to admit that he enjoyed her blushes. "Well, don't get your hopes up, I'm only changing my shirt."

Sometimes, she just wished the earth could swallow her whole.

* * *

Her nerves were frazzled. This was the tenth time this week that Severus had announced his return with a slammed door, and she didn't think that she would last one more episode without going absolutely spare.

Surely he didn't act this way in his classroom did he? She could only imagine how terrified all of the students would be if that were the case. Beatrice had a plan, and all it needed was a well placed sticking charm and an old bucket.

_SLAM! _

_Splash..._

"WITCH!"

Beatrice smiled around her cup of tea. There was nothing like the sounds of domestic bliss.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Extra-long chapter! For those of you wondering about Beatrice's idiot-brother (thanks RB for the excellent description), here is a little more back story explained. This chapter is rated M for violence and strong language... yep. I do not condone this behavior and find it completely abhorrent, but it is simply how I am reading the characters.

* * *

Chapter 7

Weeks passed, and the summer grew old. Severus had to admit that having an elf wasn't the worst thing in the world; there wasn't a speck of dust to be found. He and Beatrice had grown comfortable with their strange arrangement, though comfortable was the last word that Severus would use to describe the springs in the couch. He just couldn't bring himself to demand any more from his wife, as he feared turning out just like his parents. Instead he treated her much like an unwanted roommate. This plan of his would have been much more effective he could forget that this 'roommate' was also female.

A reasonably attractive female.

He had never been in such extended proximity with a woman before... and wasn't she his, theoretically?

After that day in the garden, his mind had gone full traitor on him. He kept finding himself thinking inappropriate thoughts at inappropriate moments and finding himself thrust into compromising situations. He found himself watching her walk and observing the gentle way her hips would sway as she paced around the room. He would watch, enraptured, at how her delicate hands would stroke her silken thread as she embroidered while he read the Evening Prophet; there were several times he found himself on the same page after an hour had past. One time, he had quietly sneaked upstairs to take a shower, thinking that his wife was still asleep. To his surprise, she was _in_ the bath, and he had received a first class view of her backside, and it was every bit as round and smooth and shapely as he had imagined. He had felt his heart go into paroxysms, and it had taken all of his discipline to quietly shut the door. As he hadn't had a repeat of the bucket incident, he assumed that she had never discovered his intrusion.

Today, Beatrice had gone to visit her family in London, leaving Severus to blissfully suffer alone.

He had barely sat down before he felt his Dark Mark flare with a searing heat. He hissed, clutching his forearm, before racing up the stairs to the hidden drawer in his wardrobe. He pulled out his robes and mask and quickly put them on. He didn't know why he was being called in the middle of the day, but it must have been urgent for the Dark Lord to demand his presence in such a way.

Severus made his way down the stairs and to the back yard where he Disapparated, following the call of the mark.

* * *

Beatrice was sitting in the parlour of her parents' house, listening to her mother tell of her younger sibling latest adventures. It felt good to hear about such trivialities; Severus wasn't the most sociable of creatures and Beatrice did not feel comfortable enough to try and interact with her muggle neighbours. It left her with little outlet for her naturally chatty self.

Besides that, it was so depressing being at her new home, drab and unkempt as it was. Beatrice had performed all of the household charms in her arsenal, but there still wasn't much life in that hovel, she thought with distaste. With Dippy, she had a much easier time keeping things spic and span, but with Severus not letting her redecorate, there was little she could do for that old house. She missed the opulence she had grown up with, and the presence of all of the elves to do the heavy lifting.

And the baking. She reached for one of the petit fours on the silver tray held by her mother's elf.

"So tell me again, what happened to Mittens?"

"Mittens?" Mrs. Dagworth repeated. "Ever since your sister has turned three, she has had such a fascination with that cat." She put down her teacup. "Annette finally caught her... with a summoning charm, no less. Nanny certainly has a handful with her."

"Her first bit of accidental magic? How exciting!"

"Yes it is, hopefully she will take after you and not your brother; I don't think my heart could handle another one like him." Mrs. Dagworth reached down to ring a bell on the table. "Moggy, take this tray back to the kitchen."

"Yes, mistress."

The elf clicked his fingers and all of the tea items floated his way.

After a minute of silence, Beatrice's mother leaned forward and took her daughter's hands between her own. She looked at her with deep concern. "Dear heart," she whispered. "Tell me, truly, has he treated you well? You must be careful with his ilk, just look at how different your brother has become over these few months. He sold you!" she pleaded emphatically. "And his temper... If your father were well, he never would allow this."

"Mother, he needs that potion... I've only done what I must."

"Sister!" A loud bang accompanied the shout, and they turned with a start.

A tall, swarthy man in dark blue robes barged into the room, slamming open the door and sending their elf Moggy skidding into the wall and the tea things flying.

Mrs. Dagworth flinched at the noise. "Tiberius, you've returned." She forced a smile.

"I've brought the potion for father. The Dark Lord sends his regards." He carelessly tossed an emerald green vial into his mother's lap.

"Yes, the Dark Lord saw fit to let me come visit when he heard you were in town, dear sister." he came over and kissed Beatrice on the cheek. "How have you been? Old Sevvy treating you well?"

The shutters fell down on Beatrice's smile. "His name is _Severus_."

"Sev, Sevvy... what's in a name?" Tiberius Dagworth laughed and clapped his sister roughly on the back. Beatrice grimaced as he gripped her shoulder. "Whatever you call him, I'm sure you have lots of stories to tell. It's been what...a month or so?"

She met his wink with a sneer that would do Severus proud. "I'm sure my stories would bore you to tears," she answered lightly. Something did not rub her right about this conversation. She scrambled to remember something, anything, from those her textbooks. "We sit around all day and read books. Why, just the other day he was trying to explain to me how the Law of Contagion works to combine volatile ingredients in potion making. For example—"

Tiberius threw up his hands to stall the forthcoming lecture. "Save it, sister. You know I never had a mind of all of that intellectual drivel."

He sat, sprawling rudely in the arm chair closest to his sister and mother. "I was hoping you could tell me more about him as a person. What is he like underneath all of those buttons?"

The tone of her brother's voice countered the innocence of his question. What interest could he possibly have for that information? "What do you mean by that?" she asked sharply.

Tiberius back-pedalled with little finesse. "Oh, you know, certainly he has some, ah—_habits_."

Beatrice didn't know if this question made her feel any better. Why did he want to know about her husband's habits, of all things? She was sure they knew each other, they were both Death Eaters.

Beatrice made a show of straightening her skirts. "If you're that interested, you could always talk to him yourself. We only live a Floo call away." She made a motion to stand. "I could go call him now, if you like."

She was surprised by the glimmer of fear that flashed through her brother's eyes.

"No need for that, dear sister," he answered. "I just wanted to get to know my brother-in-law better, that is all."

"Clearly." She didn't believe a word.

* * *

"My Lord," Severus greeted. He kneeled at Voldemort's feet and kissed the hem of those mouldy robes. When he stood, Severus realised he was the only wizard around, and that they were in the Riddle family graveyard.

"My Lord?" he said again, this time as a question. Those two words were always the safest response to give the mad wizard.

"Ah, Severus. How nice of you to come when called, I thought you might have been... _occupied_ if I called you later." Voldemort chuckled at his own joke. He began to walk around the tombstones and Severus followed, a respectful two steps behind.

"There is nothing more important than your call," Severus answered.

"Is that so?" Voldemort paused at the side of an empty grave. He brushed a clod of dirt into the gaping hole. "How have you been enjoying your... reward?"

His brow furrowed as he answered. "Well enough, my Lord." Severus was confused, not believing that was the reason the Dark Lord had called him away. Was he really here so the Dark Lord could vicariously get his jollies? He hid his confusion behind his usual composed facade.

"So you say, and yet I do not feel that you are enjoying my gift as much as you claim." Voldemort rounded on Severus. "It has been brought to my attention that you have not consummated the marriage yet. Do you deny this?"

He watched as the Dark Lord conjured the contract he had signed. There was the proof floating in the air, rust coloured signatures where there should have been gold. _What? Seriously? _Severus was so astounded by the absurd turn his life has taken, that for the first time, he was at a loss for words. "My... my Lord?"

The conjured scroll disappeared with a pop, leaving a smirking Voldemort behind. "There are potions for any ah—_issues_ you may have." Severus felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of the Dark Lord giving him sexual advice.

"There are no issues, my Lord," he finally gritted out. Severus was glad that his mask hid the revulsion he was sure coloured his face.

"Oh, then shall we say that you fly for the other team?"

A strangled noise was his only response.

Voldemort bent down to pick a wild flower that struggled for life in the barren graveyard. He rolled the stem between the fingers of his wand hand. He uttered nonchalantly, "Take care of it or get rid of her; it makes little difference to me." Voldemort fixed his red eyes upon him. "The fact that you have yet to act leads me to believe that you disapprove of my decision, my little snake. It pains me to see you thinking so little of your gift, perhaps I should dispose of her for you?" To illustrate, the bloom within his fingers withered, then crumbled to ashes.

Severus bowed low, using the time to think carefully over his response. It was absolutely absurd that his life had come to this point, that he was about to beg graveside for his life and that of his Malfoy-gifted baggage. "My Lord," he said at last. "I am indeed grateful for your generosity, but I am simply waiting for the girl to come to me. I can already sense her resistance waning, and what a boon that would be to break her with! Giving into someone she considers below her, yet someone whom you have placed your utmost faith in!"

Voldemort looked at him in disbelief at that cobbled up story before giving a raspy laugh. "Oh Severus, you are always _so_ amusing." His voice took on a sharp tone. "Now repair the situation before I rethink my generosity.

"_Crucio_."

After several moments, the curse was released by a lazy dip of Voldemort's wand. Severus stood shakily, gave another bow and stumbled back a few paces before Disapparating from the graveyard.

* * *

It was dark by the time he Apparated back to his back yard. After meeting with Voldemort and a pointless Order meeting, he was too angry to risk walking through the town, and just had to hope there weren't enough neighbours left to see him appear out of thin air. As things were, he barely resisted blasting the back door off of its hinges. He slammed the door and stormed from the kitchen to the sitting room. He stopped cold when he saw Beatrice sitting there; she must have returned earlier in the afternoon.

"Severus?"

He made an abrupt about-face and returned to the kitchen. Cabinet doors banged around as he sought his firewhiskey and a tumbler.

Beatrice heard the commotion from the sitting room, so she rose and followed him to the kitchen. "What happened? Where have you been?" she asked.

"Leave me," he snarled darkly. He popped the cork off of the firewhiskey with his teeth, and poured a heavy dram. Part of the drink sloshed onto the table.

She came closer, touching his arm. "Tell me what happened."

He threw off her touch and whirled on her. "Do you think you can fix everything? You don't know anything about me!" He stepped closer, pushing her back with his presence. "Damn you." He tossed the firewhisky back with one gulp.

Confusion coloured her eyes. "You don't mean that..."

"I don't?"

The strain and want of the past few weeks finally broke through him. Like lightning, he reached forward and gripped her head with his hands as he forced his lips against hers. His kiss was bruising at he fought for dominance, his breath came in harsh, ragged gasps. Distantly, he felt her fighting against him, and pressed harder.

"Stop!" Beatrice fought against him. She tried to twist away, but his nails held a bruising grip on her scalp. She didn't know or understand where his sudden rage had come from. She did the only thing she could and clawed at his shoulders with her nails, but found nothing but the layers of wool.

Severus pinned her against the refrigerator door, heedless of the handle pressing into her back. She tasted sweet, her tears mixing with the liquor and his spit. He pushed his hips against hers in a lewd intimation of acts they had never completed. Oh, how he wanted to conquer her, take her, share his damnation... He'd show her how to fix things.

There was a sharp pain, and he pulled away with a hiss.

"You bit me!" he wiped his lip with the cuff of his sleeve. He could taste the copper tang of blood in his mouth.

Beatrice yanked her wand out of her skirt pocket and pointed it at him. "Don't touch me!"

She panicked and tripped backwards where she collapsed against the cabinetry, her lungs gasping for air. She felt betrayed. This angry wizard, this was not the reserved bitter man she had come to know, this was a dark wizard, the Death Eater she had been threatened by. This is what her parents had warned her about when she had accepted Malfoy's bargain.

Severus leaned forward and Beatrice flinched away. Her wand clattered to the ground. The sound of the wand hitting the floor echoed ominously in her ears, and she realized she was trapped in a corner, with cabinets to her left, and the refrigerator to her right.

Severus gave a ragged breath as he reached out to touch Beatrice's face, his fingers trailing over the smooth flesh of her cheek. He gritted his teeth and assumed a cold mask of indifference.

Beatrice held her breath, unwilling to move over fear of what was to come. She watched him take another step forward and lower his face to hers, and she desperately tried not to tremble. His thumb traced the fullness of her lower lip, dipping in between those lips, touching her teeth, daring her to bite him again. Beatrice wouldn't dare meet his eyes.

"Go to bed, wife."

A sob caught in her throat.

"Go. To. Bed." he repeated. There was no missing the menace in his tone.

He took a jerky step back, and Beatrice used the opportunity to slide cautiously against the cabinetry. Once she was past him, she took off like a shot for the next room. She turned to look at him and he was standing rigid as if he had been petrified with tension clearly visible in his stance.

Beatrice felt tears streaming down her face as she battled with her confusion. She saw him turn his head to see her still standing there, and she dashed up the stairs.

Alone, Severus took another wipe at his swollen lip to only see more blood ooze slowly from the wound. He looked at his stained shirt cuff with disgust. He lashed out and punched the wall. He was desperate to release this pent up rage of his, but his only reward was split and bruised knuckles. "Damn it!"

"_Fuck!"_

He sank to the linoleum floor and stared at the empty doorway Beatrice had disappeared through.

In the end, he had only proven himself to be the monster he knew he was.

He had ruined everything.

* * *

A/N: Thank you, all, for your continued reviews! Guest, I would love to PM you about translation help... but, alas! I don't know who you are.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: Pretty sure there are a few typos. Ah well, I hope I didn't lose too many of you with the previous chapter!

* * *

Chapter 8

Severus left that night for Hogwarts. Upon arriving, he stalked straight into his office where he locked the door, pulled out the Pensieve that he had borrowed from Dumbledore and plunked down it upon his desk. His hands shook; he stepped back, pacing twice before coming back to stare at it once more. He couldn't understand why he had such little control around Beatrice. There was something about her that drove him to distraction, which infuriated him beyond reason, and yet drew him like a moth to a flame. Even now, when he had no right, thoughts of her still filled his mind. He stepped forward and pressed the tip of his wand against his greasy temple and began to extract strand after strand of misty memories.

He plunged his head into the Pensieve and viewed the memories. When he was done, he pulled his head out and snarled. There was no reason he should feel affection her! No reason! He was rude to her, taunted her, he did everything he could to find reason to despise her (and her to despise him)... and still something about her called to him. His body ached with irrational desire when he was around her, and instead of acting like a normal wizard and trying to woo her (not that even knew where to begin), he lashed out with anger instead. He gave a hollow, self-depreciative laugh and shook his head in disbelief.

And how, how did he still have (had?) Beatrice's trust? He didn't understand how she followed his every lead, and accepted his temper as if it were normal... the only sign of her distress being those blue eyes of hers.

He put the memories back into his head and sat heavily at his desk. Elbows planted firmly on his desk blotter, he rested his lips against his joined hands and worried at a knuckle with his teeth. His mind raced as he relived the events of that day. At least he had managed to suss out Voldemort's involvement in his situation; it had nothing to do with real interest, but rather it was the Dark Lord ensuring that he portrayed a proper sense of gratitude. It seemed that he had incurred the Dark Lord's wrath by refusing to "play with his toy".

He needed to go to Dumbledore with all of this before it got any deeper, but he knew he could never do that.

He swore.

His nails beat a rapid tattoo against the desk surface. Beatrice still believed him to be a loyal supporter, and she couldn't know any different. It would be disastrous if his real loyalties were to leak out. Severus looked down at the empty Pensieve. He couldn't apologize for his actions yesterday; that would be to out of character for him. No, he had a role to fulfil. He squeezed his hands into fists, cracking his knuckles and wincing when the split skin pulled taut, and then spread his palms flat against the desk, holding them perfectly still. His face smoothed into the expressionless mien that he so often favoured.

He had to be cool, collected, and utterly calm if he were to maintain this ruse. He simply hoped that he didn't lose his soul, or her, in the process.

* * *

"Good morning."

The sound of his cold voice froze Beatrice right in her tracks.

After a restless and sleepless night, Severus had returned to Spinner's End far before dawn. He had spent his time pacing in the small space of his sitting room, before remembering himself and sitting down. His posture reflected utmost control and his face betrayed none of the emotion he was feeling underneath. He was dressed in his heavy black teaching robes, (taken from his wardrobe at Hogwarts), and sat like a malevolent black cloud, facing the hidden panel covering the stairs. He was lucky that Voldemort felt more amused than anything by their situation, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. He had thought long and hard over what needed to happen next, and what needed most right now were memories that the Dark Lord would approve of.

Now that Beatrice had appeared on the stair, it was too late for him to take the coward's way out and disappear back to Hogwarts for the day.

There was no room for emotion here. He returned his gaze to the frozen witch in front of him who looked like a deer caught in the lumos light.

God, how he hated himself.

"Beatrice, come here."

He felt her hesitation. He knew the Dark Lord would find her, and therefore his, 'disobedience' unacceptable. "I said, come here!" he growled.

She entered the room slowly, cautiously, and her hands clutched the wall for support. "Yes, sir?"

Something inside of him clenched in pain at how carefully Beatrice was treating him. He hated to have to do this to her, but he tamped down those feelings behind an icy mask.

"Sir?" he mocked her. "I am not your professor."

"Husband," she corrected, licking her dry lips.

"Ah yes, _husband_, doesn't that word sound better?" he drawled. He beckoned her forward, but she refused to enter any further into the room. "Come here, _wife._" His voice caressed sibilantly over that last word, turning it into a taunting phrase. Beatrice took a few cautious steps forward. "Come sit on my knee." He pushed his voluminous robes aside and tapped his trouser-clad right knee in a condescending manner.

She looked as flighty as a spooked rabbit as she picked her way around the furniture. She finally reached his side and nervously wiped her sweaty palms against the folds of her skirts. "I don't think this is proper."

"Proper? I thought I was your _husband_. Surely you can touch my leg without being overcome with the vapours." She sat carefully, balancing herself on his leg, only to jump as he began to stroke her back with his right hand.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked with false politeness in his tone.

Beatrice looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You're joking."

He gave a dark, bitter laugh. "Never. Now, you didn't answer my question," he chided.

Her voice developed a barely perceptible tinge of anger. "I have a terrible headache... but you would know about that."

His lips curled into a half-smirk, but he declined to answer her accusation. "Tell me, wife. Do I frighten you?"

Her boldness left her when faced with his devilish leer. "Yes..." she admitted.

"I do?" he feigned surprise. "Why is that?" Severus brought his free hand to rest intimately close to her lap. He could see sweat gathering near her temple, and fought a wince when he saw the bruise where he had grabbed her.

"You are a Death Eater."

"Ah, but those loyal to the Dark Lord have nothing to fear from the likes of me. Besides, I am not all _that_ bad." He stroked a little further down her spine. "I feed you, clothe you, and I haven't imposed my will on you..." He let his hand drift down to cup her bottom. "...yet."

"Unhand me!" Beatrice stood, throwing his hands off of her.

He laughed darkly and pulled her back into his lap. "Silly girl," he hissed. He placed his arm back around her and she turned her head away. His hand on her cheek returned her gaze to his.

"Kiss me," he challenged her. Beatrice tried to turn her head away and he tightened his grip. He saw her eyes widen when she realised that she wouldn't be allowed to escape. Severus whispered again, "Kiss me."

He saw her nod to herself, perhaps to gather resolve, before her face tilted toward his and he felt her warm breath in small, frightened puffs against his lips. Finally, he felt her lips make their first tentative caress against his own, and he held himself still, waiting until... yes! Her lips rested warm, frightened and tender against his, giving him leave to deepen the kiss. He felt a guilty thrill go through him at that first kiss, disgust at its forced nature, and a satisfaction at finally having what he wanted, no matter how deviant the circumstances. He brought his arms up and cradled her petite body against his, letting his robes wrap around them like a dark cocoon and delighted in every small noise she made, and how she had finally—finally relaxed into his arms.

Her arms slowly reached upwards, until she had one resting on his chest and the other wrapped around his neck. As a reward, he stroked his hands up and down her back with each kiss until he could feel her shivering at his touch. One hand crept forward to cup her breast, until Beatrice jerked back with surprise at his touch.

"Please," she whispered. "I can't..." She ducked her head as if she could hide from him by not meeting his eyes. "Please, I'm not ready for anything more. It's just that... I can't... I'm sorry!"

"Hush." He silenced her with a finger against her plump, moist lips.

Severus turned his hand to stroke the same finger down her cheek. He had been mulling about what to say, how to pull of his deception, but in that moment, he decided that he could not abide someone who was terrified of him. He had to tell her some of the truth—and by chance, he spotted the perfect opening.

He cleared his throat. "The Dark Lord is, ah—_displeased_ with you and I." Oh, how he hated those doe eyes of hers, but at least they were filled with curiosity instead of fear. This may have been the first time he had been forthright with her since they made their acquaintance. "He feels that I have been too kind in my treatment of you, and wonders as to why you haven't fulfilled your," he paused with a sneer, "your _duties_ towards me."

"Kind?" She scoffed, despite of her fear. "We must have different meanings of the word."

"Undoubtedly."

She tried to stand, but he held her firm. Confusion colored her eyes. "Wait… He knows that we haven't...?"

"Yes, he knows." He didn't have to feign disgust at this revelation.

He raised his hand to push her long, loose hair back from her face and noticed the small, finger sized bruises that formed a pattern from her jaw to the back of her neck. He gingerly touched them, and to her credit, she barely flinched. "I did this to you?"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she only gave a silent, hesitant nod. Severus gestured for her to stand. "Come with me to the cellar and I'll do what I can."

She followed his wordlessly to the backyard and into the cellar, sitting daintily on a stool until he found his tin of bruise balm. He unscrewed the lid and gathered some of the lavender scented balm on his finger tips. He rubbed the balm into the darkened flesh and the bruises began to heal. Beatrice stood as he put away the tin, and let her hair back down.

When he returned, he saw that her eyes were full of unshed tears. He put his hand out to cup her face, and could tell she was struggling not to flinch away from his hand.

"Why did you hurt me?" she whispered as he carded his fingers though her black hair. "Have I not done all that you asked?"

"Hush..." She must have known how he wrestled with that question himself. He never meant to harm her, to leave her as this shattered shell of herself. If only he had better control over his anger! He didn't understand why he was able to control himself around everyone but her. "I do not wish to hurt you."

"Then, why?"

She was starting to weep again, and Severus felt far outside of his comfort zone. He awkwardly opened his arms and was surprised when she leaned against him. He could feel her tears soaking the shoulder of his robes. Severus tried to find a way to explain their terrible situation without giving away too much.

"The Dark Lord...has certain expectations regarding the behaviour of his followers."

She lifted her head from his shoulder. "You said he believes that you are too kind, so… he punished you?"

"Yes," he said bitterly. "He feels that his generosity towards me has been misplaced."

"I'm sorry," she said with all sincerity. "I did not mean to burden you so."

He was gobsmacked by her apology. She apologised to him. _She_ apologised to _him_. Now he felt even worse, for she had done nothing wrong! It was all him and his blasted temper, the layers of manipulation and deceit that followed him, and she had the gall to apologise first. He marvelled at the creature she was to forgive his heinous acts, and then apologise for slightest errors! He began to doubt the fanaticism of his bride. Yes, she claimed to be a loyal follower of the Dark Lord, but with her personality...there was something that just did not follow. Perhaps there would be hope for them yet. If only there was a way to get her to the Order without rousing suspicion…

"But, why would he care?" Beatrice asked, interrupting his train of thought.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he grumbled under his breath. Louder, "Come. We shall talk no more of this."

* * *

Once Severus had walked her back indoors, Beatrice had begged off, claiming the need to wash her face and freshen herself before coming back down. He nodded in acceptance, and she fled upstairs to that small room and paced futilely those few steps before coming to stand in front of the tarnished mirror over the sink. She gripped the powder blue porcelain sink and gazed at her reflection. She noted that the bruise balm had completed its job and washed off the residue.

Merlin, she hated crying; every pureblooded witch knew it was a sign of weakness.

Things just didn't add up. In her mind swirled the events of last night, this morning, and the two months they had spent together. Who was this wizard, and what did he expect of her? The combination of cruelty, tenderness, compassion, and utter disdain had left her off-step and confused.

Beatrice turned on the tarnished tap and splashed water on her face before reaching for the hand towel draped on the nearby rack.

And then, he had kissed her...

As she dried the water from her lips and chin, she remembered the feel of Severus's lips against her own, his hard body pressed against her curves, and she shivered. She hadn't expected such warmth to flow from his thin, cruel lips, and didn't know whether to look forward or be wary of their next meeting. She now realised that all of the warnings her mother had given her were true: Death Eaters were cruel. She never had expected Severus to turn his rage on her, but he had, and he was truly a dangerous wizard.

Beatrice remembered back to how everything had started. When Lucius Malfoy had come to her parents to arrange the affair, he had intimated at the cold and aloof nature of her husband to be. Her father had fallen terribly ill months before, and was slowly deteriorating before her family's eyes. Silesius Dagworth had been an avid patron of St. Mungo's, yet they could tell them no more than to say it was a "wasting disease." The Dagworths had funnelled thousands of galleons into research, searching for a cure, before it had fallen neatly into their laps.

One day, her brother, Tiberius, had returned home with a triumphant stride, saying that he had found the cure for their father. He had opened the Floo connection and allowed Lucius Malfoy to step through, clutching an emerald green potions vial. Beatrice had helped her father stand and greet the Malfoy patriarch as was customary, though he had barely the strength to rise.

Once formalities had been met, the wizards had sat around the fire, and the witches had left the parlour. Beatrice had listened shamelessly at the keyhole.

What she overheard had turned her blood into rivers of ice. Yes, the potion Mr. Malfoy clutched would aid her father, but there would be a price required. In order to provide a continuous weekly supply, the Dark Lord required, no, _demanded _that she be married off like chattel to one of the Dark Lord's most faithful followers. She did not know who it was until she had shown up that night.

All she had known was his position as a favourite, magical prowess, how he had little patience for less than perfection, and how it would be in their best interest to comply. It was only the love of her father that kept her from bursting into the room and demanding another deal be struck. Her father had tried to bargain, but her cooperation was the only solution Malfoy would allow.

When she and her mother had been called back into the room, her first sight had been the nearly gleeful face of her brother, the sombre face of her father, and the aloof disdain of Mr. Malfoy. She had returned the look in kind and assumed the stance expected of a pureblooded maiden.

It was easier to hide her shock upon hearing the news for the second time, and she had curtseyed, nodded in acquiescence, and then gracefully fled the room before bursting into tears.

The entire experience had felt like a twisted fairy tale, and now she found herself locked in her castle and bound to the whims of her own personal beast. Severus had offered no apologies, no promises, only vague assurances that things would change between them. What she had not realised was how complicated the situation was for him as well. She had known from the beginning that she was unwanted, but she hadn't realised that he had flaunted the Dark Lord's wishes for her benefit. Now it seemed that her reprieve was over and she had to fully assume her role as wife to her Death Eater husband.

She had every right to hate him; both circumstance and his temperament were in her favour. His treatment of her would never be considered proper, no matter how lose of a definition one used. However, she kept finding excuses for the way things were.

He was kind, she thought, in his own twisted way. He may constantly gripe about how expensive she was, but he had never begrudged her any necessity nor confiscated her dowry, as was his right. He was good—alright, marginally bearable—company and he hadn't forced himself on her. Last night's violence aside, he hadn't so much as touched her, and even then he hadn't struck her as she fully had anticipated. Looking back, it was herself that had initiated contact of any type. She had rubbed his shoulders when he was tense from botched potions, touched his cheek when he was unsuspectingly kind, touched his hand in passing, and he had asked for nothing in return. She was sure he thought about more... he was a red-blooded wizard, wasn't he?

A shiver went down her spine as she remembered the feel of Severus' fingers combing though her hair, and how he had lingered there as if he had wanted to bury himself in her hair... Oh, he was a loathsome wizard! she thought. Why did her body react even as her mind revolted against him?

With one last look in the mirror, she smoothed back her hair and lifted her chin. If sacrificing her desires was what it took to preserve her family, then so be it. Witches had been doing so for ages.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Um... yeah. Sorry about the long wait for this next chapter. We in the US have entered the magical season known as marching (not football) season, and I am the choreographer for two different schools, so I'm basically teaching dance outside on a football field from 8am to 8pm. Did I mention it's 100 degrees outside? Anyway, it leaves me exhausted, but here it is... the next installment for all of my faithful readers!

* * *

Severus let out a groan after Beatrice had fled upstairs, and hoped that he hadn't fouled up even worse with his speech. He slunk into the kitchen and had sat at the table, where he then buried his head in his hands. His hair covered his face like a greasy curtain, and he took a rare moment to mope.

Unfortunately, his misery was broken by a quiet pop. Severus lifted his head and glared. Dippy was standing in front of him, wringing her hands.

"What do you want, elf?"

"Can Dippy get master anything?"

Severus felt his lip curl. "No, you blasted creature."

To his consternation, Dippy ignored him anyway, and a cup of coffee appeared at his elbow. His first urge was to dash the china against the floorboards, but his traitorous hand reached out and snatched up the cup, bringing it to his lips. The damned elf had even prepared it just how he liked it.

"Dippy," Severus called after a few fortifying sips. He gave the elf a sly look. "What is Beatrice doing upstairs?"

Dippy cocked one floppy ear towards the ceiling. "Mistress has the water running."

Bullocks. That didn't give him any useful information. He tried again with a different tactic.

"It would be a shame if your mistress were unhappy here." He took another sip of his coffee.

He watched as Dippy seemed to wrestle with herself, alternately hopping from foot to foot or wringing her massive ears, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the elf finally broke down and gave him what he wanted.

He could barely hear the first whisper, "Dippy has heard mistress..." Then Dippy let out an almighty yowl and flung herself at the cabinetry. "Can't... share... secrets..."

Severus gave a hasty glance at the ceiling and stood from his chair. "Hush, you bloody elf!" he snarled.

"Bad..." _Wham!_ "Dippy..." _Wham!_ "Bad..."

He reached out and snatched Dippy by the neck of her patchwork toga.

_"Silence!"_ Dippy looked up at him with wide eyes and gave an almighty gulp. "Now listen here, you sorry excuse for a dishrag, I'm trying to _help_ your mistress. You are not telling a secret if it's something I can plainly see with my own eyes.

"Now, tell me."

His twisted and faulty logic seemed to satisfy Dippy. "Mistress is... sad when master leaves, but..." Dippy paused to gaze fearfully up at the wizard holding her by her neck. "...but not happy when master is here. And..."

"And what, elf?"

"Mistress is angry with master."

Obviously. This line of questioning was getting him nowhere. Severus dropped the house elf, and she contrarily landed on her feet. He stood and walked towards the back window, clasping his hands behind him. "Elaborate."

"But, Dippy can't..."

He turned and glared, crossing his arms in front of him. Severus spoke like he was talking to a particularly slow Gryffindor. "I'm trying to help."

Severus was surprised when Dippy turned his own glare on him. Arms akimbo, she asked in her squeaky voice, "How come you don't make babies?"

_"What?!"_

"Dippy has eyes and ears; master leaves mistress all alone at nights. You can't make babies with only potions and hand holds."

Of all the... Severus couldn't believe he was now getting this speech from his house elf. Why was the whole bloody world so concerned with his erm... passion, or lack thereof? It was his own business what he did or didn't do, and no megalomaniac elves or Dark Lords were going to tell him otherwise.

"Listen here, you impudent little..." He grabbed her once more by her scruff.  
"Severus, what are you doing with Dippy?"

Severus turned his head to the kitchen door and found Beatrice standing there with a cross look on her face. He dropped Dippy like a piece of refuse.

"Discussing the decor," he replied.

"Really?"

Gone was the stuttering mouse of the morning, and in her place stood a witch, sure and able. Her arms were crossed, and Severus couldn't help but follow his eyes down to where those arms intersected at her breasts. She had changed robes into a set that were far more close fitting than anything that he had seen on her before. There was more than a handbreadth of skin visible beneath Beatrice's collarbone, and her folded arms brought into focus the fullness of her bosom. Each breath she drew brought his eyes back to the smooth flesh displayed there. He had never seen so much skin on her before, and it distracted him from a properly scathing response.

"I..."

"I will not stand for you mistreating my house elf."

House elf. He was so busy staring that he had forgotten about that blasted creature. Severus peeled his gaze away and glanced down at the elf currently trying to hide behind a kitchen chair. "Dippy, leave us."

Dippy popped out of the room, leaving Severus and Beatrice alone.

They stared in silence for what seemed like ages. Beatrice was the first to look away. Severus sat down at the kitchen table and motioned for his wife to join him.

"I believe we have some things to discuss," he began smoothly.

"Yes."

It seemed that he only rated one word responses today. Though it rankled on his nerves, he supposed it was fair after the way the morning had progressed; it's not like he expected outright forgiveness. "I want my bed back," he began.

"I want to leave the house," she countered.

"Leave the house?" Severus was perplexed. "What in the—it's not like I chain you to the wall!"

Beatrice crossed her arms and gave a sneer to match his. "But you never encourage me to go anywhere."

He felt that that was a load of thestral dung. "Madam, you can go to the devil if you want! Just don't—"

"Don't what?" she interrupted, inflamed by his suggestion.

"Don't... don't tell anyone that you are married to me."

"Oh, why is that? You wish to share my bed, but not give me the right to use your name. I see how it is."

"No!" he snapped. More quietly, "No, you don't see. It's just not safe for you to do so."

Her voice was incredulous. "I don't see what my safety has to do with anything. If anything, it just feels like a matter of your convenience. For all I know, you may have a mistress for how often I see you."

It was his turn to be incredulous. "How little time I spend with you? _Have you not listened to a word I've said?_ That's for your benefit, you hopped up little princess! And you know very well that there is no other woman," he hissed.

Beatrice stood and strode angrily to the back door. "I don't believe you." She knew that she was tempting his rage. This time she was prepared; she welcomed it.

"You don't need to believe me, I'm telling you the truth," he spat. Severus stood and stalked after her. He refused to be ignored by her. He grabbed her by the arms and spun her about. "Why would I need anyone else? I want you."

He missed the gleam of triumph in her eyes. "What?" she breathed.

"I. Want. You."

Silence greeted his declaration. And with this silence, they realised how close they were to one another. Severus stood there, clutching Beatrice by her arms, and he could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton of her low cut dress. Their chests heaved with unspent emotion, and it felt as if there was not enough air to breath in the room. The air they did breathe escaped in little puffs onto the lips of the other.

"I want you," he murmured.

Severus leaned his head forward and brushed his lips against her waiting mouth. A frisson of desire shot through him, and he pressed his lips more firmly against hers. She gave a moan; he pulled back and watched as her lips followed him back. He gave a sly grin at the way her eyes dilated with pleasure. He firmly decided that he wanted to hear more of her delectable sounds and gave her another kiss, more passionate than the first. He could feel her melt under his touch and he pushed her back against the door before pulling her hips tight against his.

Beatrice shivered at the intimate action, but did not pull away as she was wont. Instead, her arms crept about his neck and tugged at the locks of his hair; her reward was his own answering gasp of pleasure. Her breasts were mashed against his lean torso, and she could feel the buttons of his robes through the thin material of her own clothes. The feeling of his roaming hands was at long last welcome and titillating as they rubbed her hips through her skirts.

His heavy robes engulfed them both in a wall of black wool, secluding them from the world. Severus could almost forget about his surroundings, his responsibilities... He felt a sharp nip at his lower lip and pulled away. This time, he was greeted with a mischievous smirk that he gladly returned. He pulled Beatrice in close again and rested his face against her neck, causing her to giggle at the feel of his breath and lips on her sensitive skin. He revelled in the softness he found there. The foreign sensation of someone carding their fingers through his stringy hair startled him and tickled the nape of his neck.

How he wish he didn't have to play this charade. At this point he would give anything to just come out openly with their arrangement, but it was too dangerous. He still had his role of Death Eater to play, and if the Order were to know of his bride, they would surely dash the entire thing to shreds. What if Beatrice were questioned by either side? No, it was better for her to remain a secret, and he told her as much. He still didn't know what he wanted, but he was already in danger of becoming attached to her.

"Beatrice," he said quietly. "It is too dangerous for others to know about our arrangement. I am constantly watched." He gave a dark laugh and remembered Moody. "Oh no, Dumbledore has eyes everywhere, and I know a few Aurors who would love to ah—dissect you if they knew about you."

He picked up a curl of her dark hair and wound it sensuously around his fingertip. "Besides," he purred. "Don't you think seeing that Dark Lord's gift might make him a little... suspicious of my just being a potions master?"  
As he murmured that last word, he felt Beatrice's nails rake against the back of his neck and her lips part with want. He had never realised the effect of his voice on her before.

"You don't have to tell him..." she whispered.

"That would be worse if he were to find out." Struck with inspiration, he asked, "I have to head back to Hogwarts soon, would you care to spend the day together?"

"But you just said that no one could know..."

"You're speaking with a potions master."

Strangely, it didn't bother him when she giggled.


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: **So... Grad school is going well. I apologise for the delay with this chapter, I had writers block and placement tests to study for (and pass!), and... chapter!**  
**

* * *

Chapter 10

"_Polyjuice..._" Severus grumbled as he trudged down to his cellar. He couldn't believe that he had offered to take Beatrice to Diagon Alley as if it were some sort of date. What sort of spineless, gormless flobberworm had she turned him into? It was only a few kisses; no reason for his brain to turn into a pile of mush and spew out the last thing he ever intended to say. He reached his potions cabinet and glared at it as if it were the source of all of his problems.

"Polyjuice..." he grumbled again. This time his sneer was more pronounced. Unbidden, the images of her happy, flushed appearance appeared before his eyes. A tiny voice inside him crowed that _he _had done that. _He,_ slimy, wretched, _Snivellus_, had brought that dazed look of contentment to her eyes. _He_ had left her lips flushed and swollen._ He_ had made her mewl and writhe against him with only his mouth and voice. The power was... disconcertingly heady, he decided.

His sneer became a lustful smirk. Beatrice wanted him, and tonight he meant to have her. He knew that she had changed clothing for his benefit and played innocent as to her motives. Severus couldn't believe that she expected him not to notice the dramatic change in her attire from virginal prude to a veritable buffet of skin. Who was she trying to fool? He thought about it a little more and realised that it may not be so bad to give into the expectations of others. He only refused Beatrice's favours because he considered her irritating baggage... All right, he only denied her because he was foisted on him by an interfering busybody, and contrary to his role as a sycophant, he hated–_hated_–doing what others told him to.

He thought back to the feel of his hands around her waist. Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad to give in, this time...

Reluctance banished, he reached into the potions cabinet and drew out a phial of Polyjuice and an empty hip flask. He poured the contents into the flask and left the empty phial in the sink; he would take care of it later. He turned, shuffling through the supplies in the cabinet. He eventually found a small, dusty cardboard box. Severus blew a layer of dust off of the top of the box and pulled open the cardboard flaps. Inside, there was a small collections of phials stuffed with hair he had taken off of unsuspecting muggles.

He rummaged through the lot until he found a suitable specimen. "Blond, green eyes, tan," read the label. He popped out the cork and extracted a hair, then dumped the hair into a hip flask of the prepared Polyjuice. It smoked and roiled ominously. He counted himself lucky that he couldn't see the resulting sludge. He'd never admit it in front of his students, but some potions would always be disgusting.

He shook his head ruefully at the lengths he was going to please her. A week ago, or–_Merlin_–yesterday, he would have never seen himself doing anything to make Beatrice happy. He thought that he enjoyed her scowls and frustrated glares, but when confronted with her pleased, surprised smile, he was filled with a feeling of contentment that he hadn't experienced in years. It was confusing to say the least. He didn't know if it was worth the effort of being nice.

Severus grimaced at the Polyjuice and raised the flask in a solitary, ironic salute to his new ambitions. "Cheers."

* * *

_Shopping!_ Beatrice couldn't believe that Severus was taking her shopping! Well, she corrected herself, not shopping exactly, but at least she was going somewhere, with him instead of without him, for a change. She was fully aware that their arrangement stretched the meaning of the words "married couple," and she had resigned herself to never doing anything with him other than sit at the dinner table and glare at one another.

Merlin help her, but she was jealous of all of her married friends and their romantic little jaunts through Diagon Alley, their stopping at Fortescue's for an ice cream, stealing kisses in hidden alcoves...

She sat at her dressing table and gave a critical glance at her reflection. Her hair was mussed and her lips were still swollen from Severus' attentions. Combined with the low cut of her robes, she appeared absolutely wanton. She smirked; beneath his cold exterior, Severus was like any other man and susceptible to womanly charm. Beatrice just couldn't believe it had taken her this long to realise that warding him off didn't work as well as drawing him in.

A wave of her wand later, and every hair was placed with immaculate perfection. She leaned forward and noticed with a smile just how low her bodice dipped; it was enticing, but far from scandalous. She applied some rouge to her cheeks and tint to her lips and then took in her finished appearance. Satisfied, she went to her wardrobe and pulled out her summer cloak before heading downstairs.

She reached the bottom floor and shut the bookcase behind her with a click. She looked up to see a stranger standing in front of her.

"Merlin's ghost!" she shrieked, taking a stumbled step back. After a moment's reflection, she realised that stranger bore her husband's robes. "Severus?"

Instead of a lanky, sallow, raven of a wizard, there was a man with short blond hair, green eyes, and a tan. Severus reached up to scratch the back of his head, silently cursing muggles and their penchant for short hair. "I see you didn't recognise me," he drawled.

Beatrice's heart was still hammering inside her chest. "No, it was the tan that threw me off the scent," she quipped as she finally regained control over her heart. "With such a healthy colour, it couldn't have possibly been you."

"How droll." He looked her up and down. "You look... nice," he said at length. His face pinched and words stuck to his tongue. "

Th-thank you," she stuttered and blushed. Beatrice couldn't believe that Severus gave her a compliment.

His face softened and he moved to speak before he caught himself and twitched his robes around him with a scowl. "Are you ready to go?"

"I suppose."

"Let's go." Severus grabbed her arm to lead her out, when he felt Beatrice tugging back.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"No." How dense did she think him?

"What about your robes?"

He looked down at his black robes. They were pressed, relatively stain free, and what he always wore. "What about my robes?"

She nervously chewed in her bottom lip, but pressed onwards. "If you're not going as yourself, should you go dressed as yourself?"

_Bugger_. Severus looked down and scowled with irritation. She had a point–how had he forgotten to change his robes? He sighed and stood straight, holding out his arms. "Well, come on then. We don't have all day."

"What? You want me to... oh! Certainly." Beatrice pulled out her wand and gave it a subtle wave. Severus felt a breeze as his robes rippled around him, shifting into another style.

He looked down and was satisfied that the transfiguration was sedate. "Now, _dearest, _may we leave?"

Beatrice gave him a small smile, took his arm, and they Dissaparated for Diagon Alley.

* * *

Severus vowed silently that this was the first and last time they would ever go to Diagon Alley together–_ever_. It seemed that Beatrice had taken full license of his disguise to drag him to every godforsaken corner of the Wizarding alley. He wasn't sure if this new plan of his was even worth the aggravation, if this was the had window shopped at the haberdashery, gazed at kneazle kits, and wandered the food market trying the latest morsel portkeyed in from Egypt or wherever. She didn't even pause as she strolled right past the apothecary, but found plenty of time to look at the flower vendors. It was to his great relief that they had stopped at Flourish and Blott's, at least he enjoyed some part of the day. When they had past Madam Malkin's, it was his turn to hustle her right past the open door. He new better than to let a witch loose in a clothes store.

On the other hand, there had been some interludes that he had enjoyed. He found it guiltily liberating to behave like a youth and snatch his witch off to snog in a hidden corner.

Now, the found themselves at their last stop of the day. They were seated at Fortescue's sharing a sundae, of all the nauseatingly sweet things to do. If they weren't in public (and the ice cream so delicious), Severus would have vomited.

Severus put down his spoon and reached for his hip flask. It seemed that he only had two more doses left before he had to revert back. He took the second to last sip and tucked the flask back into his pocket. Suddenly, he heard Beatrice gasp and drop her spoon. He looked up to see her looking pale and staring at something behind him. He swivelled in his seat.

Behind him stood Lucius Malfoy.

Severus hid that he recognised the other wizard. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked, putting on a polite air.

Malfoy squinted at him before flashing a deviously charming smile. "Severus, old boy. I thought that was you!"

Severus didn't have to fake the sneer plastered across his face. He turned back to his ice cream and shoved it away. "Fine Lucius, gloat. How did you know it was me?" he drawled.

"Oh, how shocking!" Malfoy gave a dramatic gesture. "Not even a 'Sit down, old friend,' or 'Of course you can join us!'"

Severus swallowed the curse on the tip of his tongue. "Just sit down, you old goat." Once the patrician sat, he gave his friend the nod of welcome he had wanted.

Malfoy was the first to speak. "I'm sorry about demolishing your disguise-a rather good one I might add, I didn't recognise you with a tan. Where did you get the hair?"

His cheek twitched; it seemed that everyone had something to say regarding his pasty complexion. It was therefore, with great pleasure, that he replied, "Muggle."

"Oh..." Malfoy suddenly felt dirty for shaking Severus' Polyjuiced hand. "Well, where was I? Ah yes, I recognised your lovely bride there," he nodded at Beatrice who simply glowered, "and thought I'd see how the happy couple was doing."

"You're concern is touching, friend, especially seeing as it was _all your doing._"

"What a dreadful sentiment to express! I thought you'd at least be grateful for the company."

Severus glanced at Beatrice, who seemed caught between silently hyperventilating and gouging out Malfoy's heart with her syrup-covered spoon. As amusing as it was, he felt the need to intervene. "Lucius, what did you need?"

Malfoy rested his hand on the handle of his silver cane. "My message is actually for your lovely wife." He gave another nod to Beatrice. "As per our arrangement, I will be making regular shipments, seeing as you maintained your end, I shall maintain mine."

"Thank you," Beatrice gritted out with false politeness.

"And Severus, I was also to inform you that our Lord is very excited regarding the recent developments with..._you know what._ He would like for you to continue making contacts."

Severus frowned at how open Malfoy was acting with this information. He gave a sideways glance to where Beatrice sat, and Malfoy followed his gaze.

Lucius tapped his cane on the ground to regain his attention."Really, Severus. She won't be telling anyone...will you my dear?" Lucius glanced at his immaculate nails. "Our resident spy is so concerned about security."

"_Lucius_," Severus growled. They were in public, why not just announce his position to the world while he was at it?

"Oh fine, some of us have no sense of humour. Until next time, Severus." Malfoy stood and gave a brief bow to his companions.

After Malfoy had left, Severus turned to her with a raised eyebrow. It didn't work as well with his current face. "I didn't realise that you and Lucius were business associates."

"It is nothing of import." As his wife didn't seem inclined to say anymore, Severus narrowed his eyes, but left it at that.

* * *

Late after dinner, Severus found himself alone downstairs pacing the floor. They had sat together for some time, she working on embroidery, and he reading a potions journal. Once Beatrice had gone upstairs, he had been left alone to stew in his own anxiety. He had finally jumped off the deep end and started talking to himself.

"This is bloody ridiculous!" he mumbled. "It's my house and I can go upstairs if I want to. Who cares if she's in the shower?"

He dangerously nudged a stack of books as he whipped past. "She's getting ready for bed...in _my_ bed, and that witch belongs to me."

He remembered how delicious she felt underneath his hands, and his palms itched to get underneath those robes of hers. He wondered what she wore to sleep.

"No," he stopped himself. "I can't appear too eager." He raked his hand though his hair, and withdrew it with a disgusted expression and stared at his grubby palm. "Sodding...need a goddamned shower...bloody..."

Dippy popped into the room. "Can Dippy get master anyth—"

"No!" he roared and chucked a book at the unfortunate elf's head. She popped out of the room as quickly as she appeared.

He sat down on the sofa and the springs squeaked with protest. He leaned forward and held his head in his hands. "Get a hold of yourself, Snape. You're a man, not a pubescent boy."

From upstairs, he could hear the subtle whine of the bedroom door closing. He stood from the sofa and alighted silently up the stairs before stepping into the shower.


End file.
